


Hot Diggity Dog

by charlottesweb



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock - Fandom, Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Шерлок Холмс | Sherlock Holmes (TV 2013)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-11
Updated: 2015-06-03
Packaged: 2018-02-12 16:06:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 29
Words: 33,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2116146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charlottesweb/pseuds/charlottesweb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John looked back at Sherlock. “Sherlock, did Moriarty change us into girls?”<br/>Sherlock looked down his pajama top in fascination. “It would appear so, and John I must say that you are well umm amply endowed.”<br/>John crossed his arms across his chest. “Sherlock, please stop staring at my boobs.”<br/>Sherlock was about ready to come back with a retort when a voice from downstairs called out. “Sheryl, Jean, you girls are going to be late for school; hurry up you only have about an hour to get ready.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to see the youtube music that goes with this story, click on the link.  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PzSmwdJ_fRQ

The more Sherlock pulled at the ropes that tied he and John together the tighter they dug into their wrists. Moriarty laughed at Sherlock’s efforts. “Sherlock, as much as your struggles amuse me it’s time to get down to business. My studies in alchemy have all been worthwhile for today I shall exact my I.O.U. You will be banished from this time line forever and just so you won’t be lonely I am sending John along with you.” Moriarty threw back his head and laughed. He then recited some words in an ancient Celtic dialect. Sherlock caught a fleeting glimpse of Moriarty before everything went black. 

John opened his eyes and immediately he became confused. Where he was he and why did he feel so strange? John appeared to be in a bedroom and it wasn’t his own.  The light snoring next to him made John turn over. “Oh my God, it’s a girl and she looks very young, like fifteen or so,” John panicked as he tried to remember the events of last night. The girl looked somewhat familiar as she lay there sleeping in a pair of baby doll pajamas. John was about to get a closer look when he caught sight of his reflection in a pink framed mirror above a matching pink dresser. A girl of fifteen looked back at him in horror; her mouth was open as she stood there in a pink night gown. “AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH,” John screamed waking the other sleeping girl in the bed.

The girl sat up and rubbed her eyes. “Jesus, John what is wrong with you?”

The screaming blonde girl looked back at him. “Sherlock, is that you?”

The girl who answered to the name of Sherlock stood next to John in a light blue pair of baby doll pajamas. “John, you, you have boobs and you appear to be a…..girl.”

John looked back at Sherlock. “Sherlock, did Moriarty change us into girls?”

Sherlock looked down his pajama top in fascination. “It would appear so, and John I must say that you are well umm amply endowed.”

John crossed his arms across his chest. “Sherlock, please stop staring at my boobs.”

Sherlock was about ready to come back with a retort when a voice from downstairs called out. “Sheryl, Jean, you girls are going to be late for school; hurry up you only have about an hour to get ready.”

Sherlock and John looked at each other in shock. “Sherlock, what are we going to do?” John wined in a fifteen year old girl’s voice.

Sherlock took a step towards John, giggling in his own fifteen year old girl’s voice. “John, you look so funny, “he laughed as he reached out to touch John’s boobs.

“Hey,” John said as he slapped Sherlock’s hand away. An all-out pillow fight was avoided by a knock at the door.

The door opened and a woman that looked like a combination of Lucille Ball and Donna Reed looked around the door. “Girls, stop playing around. Come on the French toast and bacon is getting cold.” She clapped her hands and walked over to a pink old fashioned radio and turned it on.  After a slight crackling sound the sounds of Perry Como singing, “Hot Diggity Dog,” filled the room. John and Sherlock stared at each other as the ridiculous song’s lyrics bounced off the walls. The perfect mom sang along with a few verses of the song and then stopped. “Girls, Girls, come on hurry up.” She then blew them a kiss, threw a couple of skirts, slips, bras, panties blouses, socks and saddle oxfords on the bed and left the room.

Cautiously Sherlock and John approached the clothing on the bed. Sherlock picked up the two bras and handed the larger one over to John. “Well, John, it looks like this one is yours.” Sherlock said as he dangled the bra in John’s face.

John snatched the bra out of Sherlock’s hand. “Give me that,” he snapped.

For the next few moments John and Sherlock held up various pieces of clothing. Sherlock was the first to take off his pajamas. He strode over to the mirror and checked out his new body. “Wow, not bad.” Sherlock said as he whistled. When he turn around John had put on the panties and was holding the tent shaped cup bra over his boobs.

“Sherlock, come over here and help me fasten this.” John said as he turned around so that Sherlock could hook his bra closed. Sherlock slipped on his own bra and panties and then stood next to John as they both stared at each other in the mirror.

John laughed. “Sherlock, we are kind of cute aren’t we? We are bound to break some hearts.” John took a deep breath as he looked at Sherlock’s legs. “Sherlock, our legs are so hairy we are going to have to shave.” Sherlock and John walked to the bedroom door and peeked out. “Look,” John said as he pointed to an open door, “Come on lets go.” Sherlock and John looked both ways and then ran into the bathroom and shut the door.

Sherlock walked over to a pink radio and turned it on and grimaced. “God, is everything in this house pink?”  The song “Round and Round” sung by Perry Como, blared through the bathroom as Sherlock danced around the room. John held up a metal razor he found on the counter and lathered up his legs with soap. Between the two of them John and Sherlock and John helped each other shave their legs and armpits, as 1950’s tunes filled the room.

“Hey, I know we are in the 1950’s, but where do you think we are?” John asked as he watched Sherlock feeling his leg to see how smooth it was. “Sherlock, are you listening to me?” John snapped.

Sherlock grinned at John and then crossed his eyes. “John, it’s really quite simple. We are in Corona, California.”

John put his hands on his hips. “Now, how do you know that?”

Sherlock laughed and then held up a newspaper he had been holding behind his back and pointed to the city and state on the front page. He then jumped up on the counter and began to dance as Jerry Lee Lewis sang, “Great Balls of Fire.” In his hand he held a hair brush pretending it was a microphone.

“Sherlock quit screwing around. We’re going to be late for school.” John said as he pouted.  As the next song came on “Johnny Be Goode,” sung by Chuck Berry, John grabbed the hairbrush from Sherlock. Sherlock laughed and acted like he was playing a guitar as he danced with John. “Go, Johnnny go, “Sherlock sang.

A knock at the door stopped John and Sherlock. “Girls quite fooling around and get out here right now,” the mom commanded.

Sherlock and John opened the door and stood before the mom. “Sheryl, you and Jean are going to have extra chores today so I want you to both to come straight home from school. No, going to the Hi-Spot and no going to the Mava. Jean, I agreed to take care of you while your father is overseas and I don’t want to tell him that you have been mis-behaving.”

Sherlock and John nodded and then ran to their bedroom to finish getting ready. A half hour later John and Sherlock looked at themselves in the mirror, their lips were a light shade of pink from a lipstick called, Pink Poodle, and their nails were painted with a matching nail polish.

John grimaced as he looked down and his nails, the lacquer was full of bubbles and lumps. “My nails look awful. I don’t know how women do all this stuff and don’t even get me started on the eyebrow plucking we had to do. It really hurt.”

Sherlock sighed. “For God’s sake John quit whining and let’s go to school.”

John stuck his tongue out at Sherlock as they left the room and made their way downstairs. It was an awkward process as their skirts and puffy slips interfered with their balance.

Sherlock’s mom kissed each girl on the check and handed each of them a lunch sack. “Have a good day girls.”

1950’s Corona, California was a magical place. John and Sherlock breathed in the scent of orange blossoms and pepper tree berries; the sky was clear and blue. “You know this place has a different sort of rhythm, it’s so relaxed.” John said as he and Sherlock walked down the pepper tree berry filled sidewalks.

The peaceful morning  was shattered as a 1952 Green two toned Desoto pulled up to the curb, “Hey, girls,” a voice yelled. "Looks like you’re running a little late for school. Get in.” “Rock around the Clock,” blared on the radio as Sherlock and John got the wildest ride of their life to Corona High School. The high school in those days was in the building that houses the Corona Police Department today. The building was a work of art in Mediterranean Revival style, the roof was red clay tiled, with ornate sculpturing around the outside walls. Once in the parking lot Sherlock and John piled out of the car and ran into the entrance of the building with all the other kids.

“Hey Sheryl, Jean, wait up,” two girls called out as they ran up to Sherlock and John. “What’s wrong? You two act as if you’ve never seen us, it’s us Toots and Cuddles. Come on you two let’s get to class.” All four girls ran down the hall as their fluffy skirts and long pony tails bounced in the air. The day went by pretty quickly and by noon Sherlock was bored.

At lunch time all the kids ate together on the front lawn of the campus. “So, are you two going to the dance on Friday night?” Toots asked.

Sherlock and John looked at each other and shrugged. “As far as we know we haven’t been asked.” Sherlock answered in a  monotone voice.

“Sheryl you are so strange. Well don’t worry Cuddles and I will find dates for you two.” Toots laughed.  “But first we have to survive P.E.” Cuddles frowned.

Sherlock and John stood in the girl’s locker looking at the combination lock before them. “What are we going to do?” John squeaked

Cuddles came up behind them in gold shorts and a button down white shirt. “Hey, did you two forget your locker combination again?” Toots asked. Sherlock and John both nodded in unison. “Well, no problem because the last time you forgot you gave it to me,” Toots laughed as she walked over and worked the combination lock open.

Badminton was a nightmare and John thought that he must be in hell; after all it was all Sherlock’s fault that they ended up in a city as hot as Corona. For Moriarty knew that Sherlock hated hot climates. John felt positively ill by the time P.E. was over. Sherlock took John’s arm, “John, you don’t look well. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, my stomach hurts. I guess lunch didn’t agree with me.” John complained, as he made his way to the girl’s bathroom. A few moments later as Sherlock was washing his hands at the sink he heard John yell. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Sherlock tapped on the stall door. “John I mean Jean, are you okay?”

A few moments later John came out of the bathroom. “I’ve got cramps.”

Sherlock shrugged. “So, it was probably something you ate.”

John folded his arms across his chest. “Sherlock, I have cramps. You know CRAMPS.”

Sherlock’s eyes widened. “Oh, my God you started your period? Well, don’t worry everything will work out.”

John stared beyond where Sherlock stood and gasped. “Oh my God, look at that girl. Doesn’t she look just like Mycroft?”

Sherlock looked to where John was pointing and took a deep breath. “Mycroft, is that you?”

 

 

 

 

.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  



	2. The Sign of Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock opened his mouth to retort, but was cut off when a heavy wet rug hit all three of them with a resounding thud. Sherlock and Mycroft recovered first and then they assisted in freeing John from his Wet Persian Rug Prison. Once John was finally free he sputtered and coughed several times, and then went on a tirade of swearing, in which I am fairly certain that some of the insults had not been heard by the general public of the 1950’s. The house lights had come up and the theatre manager and a crowd of wide eyed theatre goers started at John in horror. Sherlock stepped forward. “Um sorry folks, Jo I mean Jean is suffering from PMS.” When no one responded Sherlock carried on. “Well, the pain became so intense that J—ean smoked some reefer and well as you can see from the effects; reefer is something to stay away from.”

John lay on his back with a hot water bottle on his abdomen. Sherlock lay next to him making soothing sounds. “I’m so sorry you have cramps, John.”

Mycroft or Margaret as he was known in this timeline, scowled. “I swear I am going to slap the crap out of you brother dear, oops I mean sister dear, if you say I’m sorry one more time.” He said as he turned his back on Sherlock and John; rolling over on a pink twin bed that matched Sherlock and John’s.

Sherlock rose up off the bed. “Come, on Mycroft,” Sherlock said as he held up his fists and danced around Mycroft’s bed. Mycroft jumped off the bed and grabbed Sherlock’s pony tail.

“Ouch,” Sherlock yelled as Mycroft yanked down on his pony tail again.

John watched them fight for a few seconds and then groaned and held the water bottle closer to his abdomen.

The door flew open and the mom clapped her hands. “Girls, girls, stop fighting at once, or I’ll have to tell your father when he gets home. Now if you want to go to the movies, you will need to behave.” She then sat on the bed where John lay. “Oh poor baby, Sheryl told me you weren’t feeling good. Is it cramps honey?” The mom asked as she rubbed John’s back. “Roll over honey and take some Lydia Pinkham’s, it will make you feel better I promise.” Obediently, John took a spoonful of the medicine.

John grimaced and grabbed the bottle out of the mom’s hand. “Jesus, look at the alcohol content in this stuff.” John said as he gulped down a few more swallows.

The mom snatched the bottle from John’s mouth. “Jean, don’t think you’re too old to spank. If you take the Lord’s name in vain ever again I will take a switch to you.”

Mycroft snickered. “Mom, Sherlock is the one that gets off on switches and riding crops.”

The mom rounded on Mycroft. “Now what is getting off?”

Sherlock faced the mom and calmly said. “It’s when a person….”

John interrupted. “Sheryl, you don’t have to explain everything. Especially not that, this is the 1950’s, remember.”

Sherlock took a deep breath. “Good point as always, John, auh.. I mean Jean.” Sherlock stammered.

John giggled at Sherlock’s girly voice. He winked at Sherlock and took a few more swings from the Lydia Pinkham’s bottle. He sighed. “You’re right, um Sheryl’s mom, I do feel better.” John giggled again.

The mom sighed. “Jean, you can call me mom. I’ve told you that before.”

John was openly shaking with laughter by this time. “Sure thing, mom,” he replied.

The mom smiled affectionately at the girls. “Girls, get ready. You don’t want to be late to the show. Although since its Saturday, you can stay and watch what you miss, just call me from the show to let me know you are going to be home later.”  The mom smiled one more time as she left the room.

John took a few more swigs from the bottle, so that by the time they had finished getting dressed for the movie, he was feeling quite giddy. Sherlock turned the radio up when, “Rockin Robin,” by Bobby Day played. Sherlock and John laughed and jumped on the bed as Mycroft stared at them in disgust. “Come on, Mycroft. Jump with us,” Sherlock laughed.

Mycroft stared at Sherlock and John for a few moments then jumped up and down on his own bed. “See, Mycroft, its fun isn’t?” Sherlock said in between jumps. Mycroft jumped up and down on his own bed and then jumped up and down on Sherlock and John’s bed, and for the first time in years, he and Sherlock smiled at each other and laughed.

John gulped on the Lydia Pinkham bottle and was disappointed when he turned the bottle over, damn it was empty.

Sherlock, John, and Mycroft stood in front of the Spanish Revival Theatre in awe, it was a beautiful building. The red tiles, light stucco walls and the wood carvings around the windows make Sherlock smile, for the architecture was quintessential California, and for some unknown reason it made him feel safe and light hearted. When they got up to the ticket booth, Sherlock, John and Mycroft all looked at each other in disbelief when the show clerk said, “0.45cents please.”Mycroft openly gapped, John hiccupped, and Sherlock just looked bored.

“How much?” Mycroft asked again just to make sure he had heard correctly.

“0.45 cents each,” the clerk repeated.

They all three paid up and entered the theatre. The ushers wore uniforms and caps like the old pictures of ushers from Radio City Music Hall, in New York, New York. Sherlock had never seen a more crowded theatre in his life. “The whole town must be here, “Sherlock mused aloud. For a few moments they all looked for a seat and then noticed a clear row of seats in the middle of the show. Sherlock pointed and they all three found a seat together. For a moment Sherlock wondered why no one else had taken these prime seats, but before he could speculate further the lights dimmed and the strains of the movie music filled the theatre. Pictures of Rome, Italy filled the screen as the song, “Three Coins in a Fountain,” played in the background.

Mycroft sighed. “You’ve got to be kidding. The movie couldn’t be a western or a war film; it had to be a romance. This is your entire fault,” Mycroft hissed at Sherlock.

John leaned around Sherlock to address Mycroft. “Hey, don’t talk to him like that,” John slurred.

“Shut up, John, you’re drunk on that woman’s tonic.” Mycroft snapped back.

Sherlock opened his mouth to retort, but was cut off when a heavy wet rug hit all three of them with a resounding thud. Sherlock and Mycroft recovered first and then they assisted in freeing John from his Wet Persian Rug Prison. Once John was finally free he sputtered and coughed several times, and then went on a tirade of swearing, in which I am fairly certain that some of the insults had not been heard by the general public of the 1950’s.  The house lights had come up and the theatre manager and a crowd of wide eyed theatre goers stared at John in horror. Sherlock stepped forward. “Um sorry folks, Jo I mean Jean is suffering from PMS.” When no one responded Sherlock carried on. “Well, the pain became so intense that J—ean smoked some reefer and well as you can see from the effects; reefer is something to stay away from.”

A few moments later Sherlock, John, and Mycroft stood outside the show entrance. “Thanks a lot Sherlock, I wanted to see that movie,” John whined.

Sherlock’s eye’s widened. “I’m not the one who called the manager a di--.” Sherlock started to say.

John interrupted. “SSH, I don’t want to get arrested for swearing.”

Sherlock, John, and Mycroft silently made their way to the park.  On the way there a car slowed down and the occupants pointed at Mycroft as they threw a water balloon out the window. “They’ve sure got some ugly girls in this town.” The boys shouted as they drove off. Mycroft wiped the water from the side of his face and sat down on the curb. His cheek was red where the water balloon had struck him. Sherlock didn’t say a word as he took a transistor radio from his purse and turned it on. There was a slight pause and then Ray Charles singing smoothly, “Georgia,” filled their ears. Sherlock jumped up from the curb. “Those bastards, I think I got the license plate and we can…”

Mycroft waved Sherlock away. “Sherlock, don’t bother I’m an ugly girl. Come to think of it I am an ugly man too. Perhaps, people have more insight here.”

For a moment all three listened to the song. John reached up and patted Mycroft on the shoulder. “It’s okay Mycroft; I think you’re a lovely girl and an even lovelier man. Now what about me am I pretty?” John slurred.

Sherlock rolled his eyes upwards. “Oh for God’s sake you’re both pretty,” Sherlock snapped as he pulled two cigarettes out of his purse. He lit one for himself and another one for Mycroft. They both sat quietly and inhaled on their cigarettes. “Good God, these cigarettes are strong,” Sherlock said in awe as he took another drag. He then reached over and patted Mycroft’s shoulder, as if it were a prickly cactus and for the second time in years Mycroft and Sherlock smiled at each other.

John leaned back and enjoyed the easy rhythm of a warm 1950’s September Saturday. “Hey, I’m tired. Let’s all go home and take a nap,” John said as he yawned.

Sherlock shrugged. “Okay, sounds fine.”

Mycroft looked over at John. “For God’s sake he’s ready to pass out. What a lush.” Mycroft said as he brushed some cigarette ash from his shoulder.

With some help from Sherlock, John wobbled to his feet.  As the three made their way home Sherlock reflected that the sign of three could mean many things.

 

 


	3. Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John slapped Sherlock’s hand away from him. “I told you I’m not going to that stupid dance.” John snapped as he turned his back on Sherlock.  
> “Jean is so moody,” Toots commented.  
> Sherlock rolled his eyes, “You don’t even know the half of it. She is such a drama queen.”  
> “Shut up Sheryl, you are such an annoying dic--. Well, you know what you are.” John said as he stuck out his tongue at Sherlock. “I’m not going to the dance and that’s final.”  
> Later that evening at the Homecoming Dance

The month of September passed by slowly, so that by the time October rolled around, Sherlock, Mycroft, and John felt as if they had been in 1950’s Corona a lifetime. One afternoon after school, Sherlock, Mycroft, John and their two new friends Toots and Cuddles sat listening to the radio in Sherlock, John, and Mycroft’s bedroom bored out of their minds.

“Hey, are you three going to the homecoming dance?” Toots asked as she threw a velvet, pink round cushion in the air and caught it.

Sherlock, Mycroft and John looked at each other in confusion. “As far as we know, no,” Sherlock answered in a matter of fact tone.

Toots smiled and dropped the pink pillow. “Well, Cuddles and I can fix that. We’ll find you dates never fear. Now what are you two going to wear?” Toots asked as she opened the bedroom closet. “Geeze, you must have the entire J.C. Penny store in this closet,” Toots exclaimed as she ran her hands through an overabundance of fluffy skirts and dresses.

“So, what’s homecoming dance?” John asked.

Toots and Cuddles looked at each other. “That rug must have hit you pretty hard. Homecoming dance is one of the best events of the year there’s a car parade, in fact Cuddles is riding on an Edsel this year, then there is a dance and a big bonfire and everyone…”

John held up his hand. “Wait a minute; did you say a big bonfire? If so count me out, I was almost burned to death in one of those last year.”

Toots stared at John for a few moments and then laughed. “Oh, Jean you are such a clown. Almost burned to death in a bonfire my foot.”

John folded his arms across his chest and pouted. “I’m not going and that’s final.”

Sherlock walked over to the closet and picked out a pink, chiffon formal and held it up to his chest. “I think it sounds fun, Jean.”

Toots frowned. “Sheryl, walk across the room again.”

Sherlock walked over to the bed and sat down next to John.

“Hhmm, you walk like an elephant, Jean, in fact all three of you do. We need to fix that. Come on let’s go downtown.”

Downtown Corona in front of J.C. Penny’s department store.

Toots walked in front of the main window of the store, she watched her reflection as she walked by and then stopped in front of Sherlock. “Sheryl, come on you try first,” Toots ordered.

Sherlock was determined to get the swish, swish of the walk on the first try. He swung his hips back and forth and then did a pelvis thrust just before he stopped in front of Toots.

All the girls laughed. “What the heck was that thing at the end? Are you trying to be Elvis or what?” Toots giggled. “Come on try again and no Elvis movements.” Toots commanded.

After several tries Sherlock got the movements down perfectly. “Oh, that’s great Sheryl, you look so sexy.” Toots said as she praised Sherlock. “You next,” Toots said as she pointed to where Mycroft stood. Mycroft’s efforts took a little more refining, but after repeated tries his walk was acceptable. Toots then turned her gaze upon John, “Come on, you next.”

John shook his head. “There is no way in hell I’m going to that dance, so just count me out.” John said as he folded his arms awkwardly across his large chest.

Day of the Homecoming Dance

“Ouch,” Sherlock snapped as Toots put a clip on earring on Sherlock’s ear lobe. “What do we need these things for?” Sherlock gasped as he pulled off the earring.

Cuddles showed her ear lobe to Sherlock. “You need to wear these to prevent a boy from blowing into your ear while dancing.”

Mycroft picked up a pair of pink, plastic flower earrings from the dresser and snapped them on his ears. “Enough said I’m putting them on.” Mycroft said hastily.

Sherlock held up a pair of blue plastic earrings as he walked over to John. “Jean, these match your eyes, put them on,” Sherlock giggled.

John slapped Sherlock’s hand away from him. “I told you I’m not going to that stupid dance.” John snapped as he turned his back on Sherlock.

“Jean is so moody,” Toots commented.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, “You don’t even know the half of it. She is such a drama queen.”

“Shut up Sheryl, you are such an annoying dic--. Well, you know what you are.” John said as he stuck out his tongue at Sherlock. “I’m not going to the dance and that’s final.”

Later that evening at the Homecoming Dance

“It’s okay plenty of girls go to a dance alone. It’s not your fault that we couldn’t find dates for you at the last minute. Come on let’s go in,” Cuddles said as she put an arm around Sherlock and John.

John straightened his bra strap. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” John hissed in Sherlock’s ear.

Sherlock looked up and sniffed. “I can’t hear you Jean, because of my ear guards,” Sherlock said as he tapped on the earring that covered the outside of his ear.

John jerked off the earring that was clipped on Sherlock’s ear. “Ouch, what did you do that for?” Sherlock whined.

Mycroft grabbed Sherlock and John’s neck from behind. “Stop it you two people are starting to stare.” Mycroft hissed as his grip on their necks tightened.

Sherlock and John stared at each other, but remained silent as they entered the gym. Old fashioned paper streamers hung from the ceiling as couples danced together. Male and Female chaperons stood in the corners keeping a watchful eye on the dancers. Sherlock and the girls moved over to a corner of the room in order to act casual.  Sherlock was the first to step out as he headed for the punch bowl. “Wait for me,” John begged as he clutched at Sherlock’s arm.

“Hey, watch it, you’re going to crush my corsage,”  Sherlock said as he straightened the flower on his pink sweater with matching pink sweater clips.

Somehow they made it to the punch bowl in one piece and for a moment things seemed like a routine high school dance. John began to relax and listen to the music, so much so that he jumped when Sherlock elbowed him in the ribs. “John, there’s an absolute dream boat heading our way. From the way his eyes are looking straight ahead and the fact that he is approximately your height I deduce that he is looking at your ample chest.”

“Hey, jerk, knock it off,” John hissed.

Sherlock shrugged, “Fine, enjoy your slow dance,” he said as he sauntered off.

“Jesus, he really has got that walk down,” John thought as Sherlock’s hips moved in a seductive swivel. John had no time for further contemplation as his would be dance partner stood before him and shyly asked John if he wanted to dance. John looked around and grimaced when he noticed Sherlock and Mycroft waving at him. John sighed. “Yes, I would love to dance with you. Your name is Jeff right? I think we have English together.” John said as he tried in vain to get his partner to look at his face and not his chest. The first couple of dances were fast and after an initial awkward moment of who was going to lead, John actually began to enjoy himself. Then oh no, the music segued into “Smoke Gets into Your Eyes,” by the Platters. John made sure his ear guards were in place and then took a deep breath, as he and his partner slowly made their way around the dance floor with the other couples. John thought the dance would be horrifying, but somehow it was innocent and comforting. “It was nice to be held once in a while,” he thought. Everything was going quite well and then John’s partner held him closer and John felt something that made his eyes bug out.

“No, no, oh no, “John thought as he bumped into an all too familiar hard lump. John could tell from his dance partner’s red face that he was just as embarrassed as John was. “Uuuh, let’s sit this one out,” John stammered as he hastily headed for a place to hide.

He was just about free when Sherlock grabbed his arm. “John, your partner, was well happy to see you, wasn’t he?” Sherlock said mockingly.

“Shut it, Sherlock,” John growled.

Toots came over, “Hey girls, what gives?”

Sherlock was laughing open by this time; in fact he was almost hysterical. “Jo-Jean’s partner got a …um…excited to see him during a slow dance.”

Toots’ eyes grew bigger, “You mean he got a Chub On?” She asked horrified.

Sherlock nodded and laughed. “Yes, yes, trust me it wasn’t a gun.”

By this time Mycroft, Toots and Cuddles also wanted to know what was going on. Sherlock was only too happy to impart the story again. Mycroft, Sherlock, and John all looked at each other and then John started to laugh. His laughter was infections for soon all the girls were laughing together.

Later on all the gang held hands, as they ran around a giant bonfire. John had an episode of panic, when the fire was first lit, but soon got into the hand holding and singing. “Gosh, it was a fun time,” John thought.

Later as the girls walked home arm in arm, John sighed. “You know other than the chub on; this was perhaps the best night I can remember in a long time.” John said as they all looked up at the stars.

As the girls made their way home and got ready for bed, John lay next to Sherlock in their little pink bed. “Sherlock, do you realize that I haven’t had one nightmare about Afghanistan, or you jumping from St. Bart’s since I got here? Why do you think that is?” John asked.

Sherlock lay thinking for a moment, “It’s simple, you feel safe, John.”

John nodded. “Mycroft, how do you feel here?” John asked. “Mycroft?” John asked again, but Mycroft would not be answering for he was fast asleep.

Sherlock jumped out of bed and stared down at his brother. “I had no idea Mycroft could even sleep,” Sherlock mused. He looked at Mycroft and then started to giggle. “John, let’s dip his hand in warm water.”

John sighed, “Oh for God’s sake, Sherlock grow up. On second thought, never grow up Sherlock. I mean it, never grow up.” John said quietly.

Sherlock fingered the heart necklace around his neck and then leaned back. “So, are we going to dip Mycroft’s hand in warm water or not?” Sherlock said as he looked over at John’s troubled face.

John looked over and giggled, “Come, on, let’s see if he wets the bed.”

Hand in hand Sherlock and John made their way to the bathroom to get a cup of warm water. A few moments later they stood beside the sleeping Mycroft and dipped his hand in the water. Mycroft stirred for a seconds and then sat straight up in bed.

“SHERLOCK, I’m going to kill you,” Mycroft shouted.

 

 

 


	4. A Good Cry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That was when the whole day turned into a nightmare for John, for instead of his being a fifteen year old girl in 1950’s Corona; John was a full grown man watching his best friend Sherlock jump to his death.  
> As Sherlock jumped from the swing with his skirt billowing in the wind like a spindly jellyfish, John shouted, “Sherlock, NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO…,” and then he fainted.

It was a hot afternoon in November and Toots, Cuddles, Sherlock, John and Mycroft sat together on the porch of Toot’s house. They had all been happily gossiping in Toot’s room, when Toot’s mother had come in and shooed them all out of the house.

Mycroft wiped the back of his neck with a hankie from his purse. “Toots, I don’t get it. Why does your mom always shoo us out of the house when Liberace comes on?”

Toots shrugged and took another sip from her cola. “I don’t know maybe she has a crush on him.”

Sherlock snickered. “Well, good luck to her on that one. I’m pretty sure that Liberace was gay.”

Toots and Cuddles looked at each other in confusion. “Gay?” Cuddles asked aloud. “He does seem happy, but what does that have to do with Toot’s mom’s crush?”

Sherlock sighed and in the most imperious tone a teenage girl could manage he spoke, “Your mom would not have any luck dating Liberace because he likes…” Sherlock’s sentence was cut off when John kicked the side of Sherlock’s foot. “Ouch, look what you did to my saddle oxford.” Sherlock wined as he inspected the scuff on his shoe.

“So, speaking of crushes do you like anyone at school?” Toots asked Sherlock.

Sherlock looked back blankly at Toots. “What do you mean?”

Toots laughed. “Sheryl, you are such a scream. What kind of guy would you want to go steady with?”

When Sherlock didn’t answer Cuddles chimed in with her opinion. “I want a boy that’s kind and chivalrous, you know my knight in shining armor-my future husband.”  

Toots laughed. “Cuddles, you are such a romantic. I want to marry an old man with one foot on a banana peel and the other in the grave.”

Toots and Cuddles laughed. After their laughter subsided Sherlock took a drag on a cigarette he had lit and fished out of his purse and commented, “Well, at least you’re practical.”

“Sheryl, put that cigarette out. If my mom catches you she will have a fit.” Toots admonished.

Sherlock took another purposeful long drag on his cigarette. “Toots, don’t be such a square. Your mom is going to be holed up in the house with her fake boyfriend for at least a half hour.”

Toots frowned at Sherlock. “Hey, who are you calling square?”

Cuddles the peacemaker quietly but firmly interrupted the discussion. “Okay, let’s change the subject. Sheryl, you never answered us. What kind of boyfriend-husband do you want?” Cuddles asked.

Sherlock didn’t answer for a moment or two and then without hesitation he answered.” If I were to date I would want my boyfriend to be honest, true and brave.”

Toots nudged Sherlock in the ribs. “He sounds perfect, maybe a Doctor or perhaps a soldier?”

“Or maybe both?” Mycroft said mockingly.

“Okay, smarty pants, what sort of man do you want?” Toots asked Mycroft.

Mycroft grabbed Sherlock’s cigarette out of his hand took a drag and answered. “I’m going to remain an old maid librarian.”

John nodded. “Yep, that sounds about right.”

Toots pointedly looked over at John. “Okay, so what kind of man do you want?”

John cleared his throat. “Um well I guess I want a hero. After all doesn’t everyone want someone who makes them feel safe-less alone?”

Cuddles smiled. “That’s really sweet Jean, so I guess that makes you a romantic too.”

John swallowed and looked down at the ground. “Yea, I guess so.”

Cuddles patted John on the back. “It’s okay Jean, we’ll show them.”

John nodded sadly. “Yes, that we will.” John said as he stared off in the distance.

Toots jumped up and announced. “We are all getting too serious. Let’s walk to the park and take pictures with my Brownie Camera.”

“Sheryl, did you bring your transistor radio, if so turn it on so we can listen to music on the way.” Cuddles said as she skipped along on the outside of the little group.

Toots took a deep breath. “Wow, I can’t believe it’s this hot in November. I guess this is what they mean by an Indian summer.”

Sherlock frowned. “Besides being politically incorrect the term Indian summer is not scientifically valid. I believe that this unusual warming trend in the weather is perhaps the very beginning of Global Warming.”

Toots stared at Sherlock like he was a being from another planet. “Okay, H.G. Wells’s time traveler let me get this straight. The future is full of gay men, global warming, flat colas, weak cigarettes, and reefer addicts?”

Sherlock thought for a moment. “Yep, that pretty much sizes it up.”

Toots playfully punched Sherlock in the arm as she said, “Come on, Miss H.G. Wells, let’s go take some pictures.”

Sherlock, John, Mycroft and Cuddles all poised for a picture near a drinking fountain in the park as Toots took a picture, then Sherlock took a picture of Toots and Cuddles, and lastly Toots took a picture of John and Sherlock. “Come on you two, get closer together,” Toots ordered. Sherlock and John took a hesitant step towards each other and stopped. “Oh for goodness sake stand next to each other hugging like Cuddles and I did. It’s not like either of you has coodies.  Hey, Sheryl, Jean dosen’t bite lean over on her shoulder so I can get you both in the picture.”  Sherlock looked at John cross eyed and then put his arms around John’s waist and leaned his head down on John’s shoulder. Toots took a couple of snaps and then nodded satisfactorily. “That’s more like it; these are going to be some great pictures.”

“Hey, look over there,” Cuddles pointed, “It’s the snow cone man. Come on.”

All five girls ran over to the snow cone cart. “I want a cherry snow cone with shaved ice,” Cuddles said as she placed her order. “Everyone else ordered the same thing and then the girls all went and sat on a low wall near the restrooms and happily ate their snow cones. Sherlock looked at his curiously for a moment or two and then took a cautious bite.

When the smooth ice shavings and intense cherry flavor hit Sherlock’s tongue he exclaimed, “Holy shit, without a doubt that is the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”

Toots was the first to react. “Sheryl, you have a mouth like a sailor. You had better curb it, or you will never find a decent guy.”

Sherlock didn’t reply for he was lost in sensory experience of the snow cone.

Cuddles was anxious for the atmosphere to return to its lazy afternoon contentedness, so after everyone was finishing up their snow cones in silence, Cuddles said, “Let’s go swing on the swings.”

Sherlock had just finished licking his fingers clean from cherry juice and he looked up a Cuddles’ suggestion. “Okay, let’s go.”

All five girls ran over to the swings and Toots pushed Cuddles, Sherlock pushed John and Mycroft swung by himself. John had never felt so happy, as he rose higher and higher in the air. He squealed with delight when at one point he felt the swing was going to flip over the swing set frame.

“Okay, time to switch,” Toots yelled out as her swing descended down to a point where Cuddles could grab a hold of the chains on either side of the swing and bring it to a stop. Sherlock went through the same slow down process with John’s swing and then it was his and Cuddles’ time to be pushed. Sherlock and Toots pumped their legs and without arranging it each seemed to be in competition with the other to see who could go the highest.

Cuddles clapped her hands in excitement. “Come on Toots, go higher.” She cheered.

John was about to cheer on Sherlock but instead looked over at Cuddles, “They both appear to be going too high and too fast. Are you sure this is safe?”

Cuddles looked over at John and smiled. “It’s okay Jean, we do this all the time. Just wait it gets better.” Cuddles laughed. When their swings had gotten so high they began to bump up. Cuddles yelled out, “Okay, Toots, jump.” Toots took a deep breath and then she was airborne. A few moments later Toots landed in a pile of skirt and slip at Cuddles’ feet laughing. Cuddles helped her up and then they both shouted out to Sherlock.

“Come on Sheryl, jump, jump,” Toots and Cuddles chanted in unison.

That was when the whole day turned into a nightmare for John, for instead of his being a fifteen year old girl in 1950’s Corona; John was a full grown man watching his best friend Sherlock jump to his death.

As Sherlock jumped from the swing with his skirt billowing in the wind like a spindly jellyfish, John shouted, “Sherlock, NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO…,” and then he fainted.

When John came to Cuddles was sprinkling water in his face as he lay in Sherlock’s arms. Cuddles looked into his eyes with a pinched worried look, “Jean are you okay? We are so sorry, I had no idea you were so sensitive.” Cuddles said as she patted John’s back softly.

John looked around at the concerned faces and then did what he had never done as a man. He wept nosily in Sherlock’s arms until he got the hiccups. When he was cried out Cuddles put her arms around his neck.

“Poor, Jean, please forgive us. I wouldn’t scare you for all the tea in China,” Cuddles said as she held back tears of her own.

Toots stood up and put her arms around Cuddles and Jean, “Jean, let’s go home.”

The walk home was silent as each person remained lost in their own thoughts, struggling to bring back the carefree attitude they had all started out with. Sherlock looked over at John’s pale face and mouthed the words, “I’m Sorry.”

A teary eyed, John mouthed back, “I know. I know…”

Later that night as Sherlock lay in bed looking up at the ceiling; he could tell that John wasn’t asleep even though his eyes were closed.

“John, I know you’re awake. Again I am so sorry, I wish I could take it back…you know…St. Bart’s and all that…” Sherlock whispered.

John kept his eyes closed as he answered Sherlock, “I know and I do forgive you. It’s just that sometimes I feel so safe as if it didn’t happen and then one small incident brings it all back. My heart forgives you, but my head is still scared to death.” John whispered.

Sherlock took John’s ice cold hand in his own and patted it. “I said I’m sorry to your heart and so this is for your head too I’m sorry.”

John was about ready to reply when he was interrupted by Mycroft. “Oh, for God’s sake would you two shut up. Some of us are trying to sleep.”

John opened one eye to look at Sherlock and they both giggled, which soon turned out until all out laughter.

John would often look back on that night with fondness.  With all the modern anti-depressants, therapists, and various recreational activities that involved the consumption of large amounts of alcohol, none of them made him feel as safe as that 1950’s cry, hug, snow cone and shared laughter of his best friend-Sherlock.

 

 

 


	5. Sanctuary from the East Wind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unbeknownst to Sherlock the sermon was on Acts 20:9, and as the Pastor reached the point in the story where a young man had fallen asleep while listening to Paul preaching, it was at this point that the Sherlock leaned heavily over on John and started to plummet to the ground. John reached out to steady Sherlock, the Pastor stopped for a moment momentarily flustered and then he took a short breath and resumed his sermon.  
> “For God’s sake Sherlock, haven’t you taken enough falls?” John whispered to a blurry eyed Sherlock.  
> Sherlock shrugged, “Oops, sorry.”

Sherlock groaned and rolled over next to John as the mom slapped his thigh. “Get up you two or we are going to be late for church.”

Sherlock yawned and sat up, “I not sure if I believe in God or not.”

The mom rounded on Sherlock like a terrier with a rag toy, “Sheryl, get out of bed at once and no sass, NOW.”

Sherlock sighed and nudged John, “Come on, it’s church time.”

An hour later Mycroft, Sherlock and John were all ready for church in their fluffy skirts, slips, pony tails neatly pulled back, everything was in place. As their car rolled into the parking lot, Sherlock thought of how different things were in this time. On Sunday all the stores were closed in Corona and if you wanted to buy anything you had to go to a neighboring city called La Sierra, where all the Seventh Day Adventists lived, for they went to church on Saturdays. Sherlock brought his mind around to the present as people sedately got out of their cars and greeted each other fondly, but with reserve. Once they were all inside the music began and Sherlock had to admit that there was something comforting about singing, “A Mighty Fortress is Our God.” John’s strong voice was clear and pure, the mom’s voice was full of reverence, and Mycroft’s voice was a little off key, but sweet all the same. Sherlock nudged John as another hymn ensued. “Isn’t that Brenda sitting in front of us? You know the one that teased Mycroft yesterday at lunch?”

John leaned forward and whispered back at Sherlock, “Yes, that’s her.”

Sherlock giggled as he moved Brenda’s puffy straw bag quietly in a position where she would sit on it once the hymns were over.

“Sherlock, what are you doing?” John hissed.

“Getting even,” Sherlock hissed back.

“For Christ’s sake Sherlock, we’re in church.” John whispered.

Sherlock was about to reply that John’s outburst was not an appropriate one, when the mom nudged him in the ribs. “Stop it,” she scolded in a voice loud enough for Sherlock to hear but not the rest of the congregation.

“I must ask her how she does that,” Sherlock thought as another hymn rolled by.

Sure enough after the last hymn was sang the choir director motioned for the congregation to sit down and sure enough there was a crackle, crackle sound as Brenda sat on her purse. Sherlock started giggling first, then John, and finally Mycroft, the more they tried to stop the more they laughed until the tears ran down their faces and just when the group got themselves under control someone would start shaking with laughter again, and like a fast moving virus mirth overtook the little group once more. It seemed like hours later when they all got themselves under control and the sermon began. It was not what Sherlock would call a boring sermon, but as the warmth and the feeling of security that one only feels when loved ones are near, sleep overtook Sherlock and he nodded off.

Unbeknownst to Sherlock the sermon was on Acts 20:9, and as the pastor reached the point in the story where a young man had fallen asleep while listening to Paul preaching, it was at this point that the Sherlock leaned heavily over on John and started to plummet to the ground. John reached out to steady Sherlock, the pastor stopped for a moment momentarily flustered and then he took a short breath and resumed his sermon.

“For God’s sake Sherlock, haven’t you taken enough falls?” John whispered to a blurry eyed Sherlock.

Sherlock shrugged, “Oops, sorry.”

John and Sherlock looked at each other and then oh no the torturous feeling  of  trying to hold laughter at bay began to overtake them again and this time their shaking sent a tremor through the pew, rocking the inhabitants in a gentle sway.  Sherlock scrolled down the church bulletin and asked John a little too loudly, “So, where are we now?”

“SSH,” John hissed and yep you guessed it laughter ensued yet again.

Sherlock only grew quiet when they starting singing, “It is Well with My Soul,” for it was the song that Sherlock had requested to be played at his funeral after he had jumped off St. Bart’s. He looked over and to his dismay John was having difficulty holding back tears. Sherlock looked straight ahead and was relieved when the rousing closing hymn of, “Onward Christian Soldiers,” was enthusiastically sung by the congregation. Sherlock looked over at John and smiled for he was happy once more. As the notes of the last hymn faded away Sherlock remained behind to absorb something what he didn’t know; just something anything. When he realized he was alone in the church, Sherlock got up and ran for the door. The pastor was shaking hands and he smiled warmly at Sherlock as he gently shook his hand. “Good to see you Sheryl, I really enjoyed our talk the other day.” The pastor said as he let go of Sherlock’s hand to wave back to another church member.

As they mingled in the parking lot, Mycroft was the first to speak, “God that was awful, the soloist was out of tune, the organ playing ragged and don’t even get me started on the funny little bowler hat the pastor is wearing.” Mycroft sneered unkindly.

Sherlock rounded on his brother like never before. “Shut up Mycroft, I won’t have you making fun of a woman who was doing her best and as for the pastor he is an intellectually stimulating person, who just last week answered my questions with intelligence and compassion and until my contact with him I feel it safe to say that he is the first Christian I have met-EVER.”  Sherlock’s eyes were full of fire as Mycroft and John stared at him in shock.

John answered Sherlock softly, “That’s good, Sherlock. I’m glad to see a compassionate side of you.”

Sherlock sighed, looking bored. “Oh for God’s sake John, quit reading more into this than necessary. For we both know I will say anything to disagree with Mycroft.”

John nodded but they both knew that Sherlock had meant every word. John stared back at the short looking little man in the bowler hat as he picked up something and handed it to a teenage girl.

John began to laugh, “Look, the pastor is handing Brenda her smashed, straw purse.”

Mycroft began to laugh too, “God, I will never forget the sound of that purse being crushed.”

Sherlock nodded, “Yes, I will remember this day for a long time as well.”

As they all piled into the car, Sherlock took one last glance at the funny, little pastor in the bowler hat.

“So, what is so special about this…this pastor?” Mycroft asked.

Sherlock thought for a moment and then smiled. “He is the first religious person that I didn’t deduce an aura of judgment when I asked him some very difficult questions. Well, let me put it to you this way, Ghandi  would have become a Christian if he had met the little pastor with the bowler hat.”  

A few hours later after Sunday dinner, Sherlock and John stood washing the dishes.

“Sherlock, you’ve been quiet. Are you still tired?” John asked in concern as his hands dripped soap suds everywhere.

Sherlock flicked some water at John, “I’m fine, just pensive.”

John flicked some more water at Sherlock, “Pensive, huh,” John said as he poured a cup of warm soapy water over Sherlock’s arm.

A water fight soon ensued and after a few moments of laughing and squealing Sherlock and John sat on the soap soaked floor laughing.

“John, laugh again,” Sherlock said as he attempted to get his breath back.

“What do you mean, laugh again?” John asked as he pulled a wet strand of hair out of his eyes.

“I want to hear you laugh, for even if we get home again, I will never hear you laugh like this,” Sherlock said softly as he looked down at his wet hands.

John nodded, “I understand. What is it about this place? No, St. Bart’s, no Moriarty, no darkness, no drugs, no addictions, no murders, what is it?” John asked aloud to no one in particular. He then continued on, “Maybe, it’s because we’re kids, maybe it’s because we’re girls. Who knows?” John said as he leaned back against a green, lacquered cupboard.

“I know the answer,” Mycroft said as he stood in the kitchen doorway. “It’s because there is no east wind in 1950’s Corona.”

“No, there isn’t. We have escaped its clutches, for the time being.” Sherlock said softly as he smiled at John and then up at Mycroft.

 

 


	6. Smoking Pipe, Bonanza, Serenity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The scarf around Sherlock’s pony tail slipped away, which made his long curly black, brown hair fall around his face, making him look like an innocent cherub. John chuckled at the unlike image as Sherlock cursed and ran after his run away scarf. Just as Sherlock would reach down to grab it; the scarf would elude his grasp. Finally, Sherlock gave up and joined the group. For some reason it bothered John, so he took off, running through the wind, keeping his eye on the scarf as it slithered away like a snake.  
> “Run, Run, Jean, get that scarf,” Toots shouted.  
> John was determined to get that scarf, no matter what, so he plunged ahead. However: his saddle oxfords were no match for the gravel strewn road and as John bent down to pick up the scarf he slipped breaking his fall with the palms of his hands.

It was November in Southern California, and even though the change of season wasn’t as dramatic as back home in London, there were changes none the less. The air was crisper, the nights shorter, and every evening there was a slight breeze that blew through the streets and it made the last brittle leaves of summer disengage from spindly, brown tree branches and swirl into eddies around one’s feet. John sat by himself on the curb and watched fall’s little drama unfold. “I miss blogging,” John thought, “It always made him feel less lonely and more connected to the events transpiring around him.” John had expressed a similar thought to Cuddles and Toots just the other day and so the girls had gone with their pocket money to the local drug store and bought John a pink diary with a lock and key. Since, Sherlock, Cuddles, Toots, and Mycroft were all at Choir practice, this seemed the perfect time for John to write in the little diary.   
Diary Entry: November 4th: Cuddles’ birthday is tomorrow and so we are going to have dinner at her house tomorrow, which will consist of black eyed peas, collard greens with salt pork, corn bread and Angel Cake for dessert. It actually sounds quite dreadful, but who am I to comment on food, after all I’m from England and we have some strange dishes there as well.   
John sighed, “It felt awkward to write in the little pink book,” he thought as he put the diary down next to him.   
It was perfect timing for coming towards him laughing, were Sherlock, Toots, Cuddles, and Mycroft, all bouncing along as the wind blew leaves around their legs and whipped at their pony tails. The scarf around Sherlock’s pony tail slipped away, which made his long curly black, brown hair fall around his face, making him look like an innocent cherub. John chuckled at the unlike image as Sherlock cursed and ran after his run away scarf. Just as Sherlock would reach down to grab it; the scarf would elude his grasp. Finally, Sherlock gave up and joined the group. For some reason it bothered John, so he took off, running through the wind, keeping his eye on the scarf as it slithered away like a snake.  
“Run, Run, Jean, get that scarf,” Toots shouted.  
John was determined to get that scarf, no matter what, so he plunged ahead. However: his saddle oxfords were no match for the gravel strewn road and as John bent down to pick up the scarf he slipped breaking his fall with the palms of his hands.  
Sherlock was the first to reach John, “Jean, are you okay?” Sherlock asked as he examined John’s bloody palms.  
John looked up at Sherlock and silently nodded, as he handed over the pink, battered scarf to Sherlock. “Thank you, John,” Sherlock whispered softy, so that no one else could overhear.  
Toots grimaced at John’s bloody palms, “Come on, let’s go to Cuddles’ house her Mom’s a nurse.” Toots said as she helped John up.  
After Cuddles’ Mom cleaned and washed John’s palms, she reached into the medicine cabinet and pulled out a small, brown bottle.  
“What is that?” John asked skeptically as he tried to free his hand from Cuddles’ Mom’s grasp.  
“Oh, it won’t hurt a bit, I call it monkey blood,” Cuddles’ Mom said as she poured a small amount over John’s hand.  
“Jesus, that hurts,” John yelped.  
“Jean, I will wash your mouth out with soap, if I ever hear you speak like that again,” Cuddles’ Mom scolded as she blew on John’s palms. “It helps with the pain,” she said.  
“What, I have never heard of such a thing. What is that stuff anyway?” John questioned as he snatched up the bottle. “Mercurochrome, my Go..goodness, this has mercury in it. What are you trying to do, give me lead poisoning?” John asked incredulously.   
Cuddles’ Mom was about to reply, when Cuddles took John’s arm and gently motioned for the other girls to follow her to her room. They were almost home free when Cuddles little eleven year old brother ran through the living room stark naked.  
“Oh, no,” Cuddles gasped in horror. “I’m so sorry.” She said tearfully.  
Sherlock shrugged, “Don’t worry, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” he replied nonchalantly.   
“What?” Cuddles and Toots asked in unison.  
John as usual came to Sherlock’s rescue,” Um Sheryl is just trying to make light of the situation,” John said firmly as he pursed his lips and nodded. “I assure you he is as shocked as the rest of us. Isn’t that, right?” John asked Sherlock pointedly.  
Sherlock looked confused and then nodded, “Of course, Jean is correct, I have never seen a penis …in the 1950’s”  
Toots and Cuddles’ faces were red from embarrassment as the girls ran giggling to Cuddles’ room. The girls spent the rest of the afternoon chatting about, clothes, boys, lipstick and the upcoming Fall Choral Concert. Sherlock watched them all pensively and then slipped out side to where Cuddles’ Dad was sitting on the front porch smoking a pipe. Sherlock took a deep breath as the smell of tobacco filled his lungs; it was a wonderful comforting scent that smelled like cherries and wood burning in a fireplace. “I am going to try a pipe, as soon as we get home,” Sherlock thought, as he took another deep breath. For a few moments Sherlock and Cuddles’ Dad sat quietly, each lost in their own thoughts; the only sound was the wind as it whispered through the Pepper Trees and Cuddles’ Dad’s pipe puffing. Sherlock thought that the puffing was a comforting sound that reminded him of a percolating tea kettle.  
Cuddles’ Dad was supposed to be half Cherokee Indian and as Sherlock looked into the mysterious depths of his silver, blue eyes, Sherlock didn’t doubt that this was so. When the Dad spoke, Sherlock about jumped out of his skin. “You seem troubled,” was the only thing he said.  
Sherlock nodded and gazed at the silvery, wispy tendrils of the Pepper Tree as they swayed in the breeze; they reminded him of ocean waves. “I am troubled and I am far from home,” Sherlock said; surprised that he had spoken his thoughts aloud.   
Cuddles’ Dad took a few more puffs and then answered. “I don’t doubt it.”  
Sherlock searched his face for any sign of sarcasm; not finding any he rushed on. “I’m from the 21st Century, 2014 to be exact, and I am not a girl, I’m not even a woman, I’m a man, a detective-a genius.”  
Cuddles’ Dad stared intently at Sherlock for a moment and then asked the question, “So, how are you going to get home?”  
“I don’t know,” Sherlock answered softly. “I don’t suppose you have a pair of red slippers lying around.” Sherlock said and sighed.  
“No, I’m afraid not,” Cuddles’ Dad said as he chuckled.  
Sherlock eyes grew round as he asked his next question, “Wait a minute, aren’t you a Mason? It is rumored that the Masons know all about time travel.”  
Cuddles’ Dad laughed openly; it was a gurgley, happy sound like his pipe. “No, I’m afraid I couldn’t reveal any Masonic Secrets, so for the time being you are stuck here.”  
Sherlock leaned back on his elbows and took a deep whiff of the smoke from the pipe and the musty smell of the Geraniums that surrounded the porch. “I guess it’s not too bad; being here I mean. After all it’s not as if I’m alone, I have Mycroft and John, Margaret and Jean to you.” Sherlock said as he grinned back at Cuddles’ Dad.  
Cuddles’ Dad returned Sherlock’s smile and said, “So, Jean is a man too?”  
Sherlock nodded.  
“Surely, Mycroft is a woman, right?” Cuddles’ Dad asked.  
Sherlock laughed until he got the hiccups. “No, Margaret is Mycroft, my older brother and well he is sort of a man.”   
“You three have been brought here for a reason.” Cuddles’ Dad said softly.  
Sherlock stopped laughing, as the old familiar anxiety and boredom clawed at his throat; making it hard for him to breathe. “Why?” He asked as he looked into the sad silver, blue eyes of Cuddles’ Dad.  
He shook his head and began to fill his pipe up with more tobacco. Sherlock watched the packing process in fascination. When he was through Cuddles’ Dad lit the pipe and then answered Sherlock. “Maybe you are just here to appreciate each other; for the world must come at one in a faster pace in the future.”  
Sherlock nodded and looked down to keep the tears from showing in his eyes.  
Cuddles’ Dad was silent for a moment and then he got up and looked back at Sherlock and said, “Bonanza, is coming on in a few minutes. Sometimes a little Television can clear up tunnel vision, so why don’t you join me?”  
Sherlock scrambled off the porch and followed Cuddles’ Dad into the T.V.-Smoking Room and as the familiar Bonanza theme blared through the room, Sherlock thought that even though this moment appeared to be nothing more than watching T.V. with an old soul, perhaps, it was much more, and so Sherlock concentrated so that he would always remember this feeling of peace and serenity, for as far as Sherlock, John and Mycroft were concerned these two attributes were sadly lacking in the 21st Century. Sherlock, yawned as he began to drift off to sleep; the last thing he remembered was Cuddles’ Dad asking him a question about Little Joe and Hoss, and try as he might Sherlock could never remember the question then or in the future.


	7. Lie to Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John reached the park on Main Street, he promptly threw up in the nearest trash can. The snow cone man rolled his slightly, squeaky cart on the outside of the park and when he turned around, John gasped, for staring at him was not the benevolent snow cone man, but the monovalent Moriarty. John stood frozen to the spot too terrified to move, as the squeaky cart moved slowly towards him. John was just about ready to bolt again when the image of Moriarty faded away and the caring face of the snow cone man looked into John’s eyes, “Jean, are you okay?”

John had to laugh when Sherlock and Mycroft slipped on their Choir Robes; Sherlock caught the contagion and laughed with John as he twirled around in his robe. “Oh for God’s sake, stop it,” Mycroft snapped, causing Sherlock and John to laugh more. Everyone quieted down as the choral director entered the room. John took one look at the choral director’s stern countenance and ran out of the room to join the Mom in the bleachers outside. “There is such a big crowd here,” John thought as he climbed gingerly up the bleachers to where the Mom sat. It was with relief that he sank down next to her on the narrow slat that someone had the nerve to call seating.

The Mom patted John on the knee and said, “All you alright, honey?”

John nodded and didn’t tell her about the melancholy that churned around in his stomach, it felt like a ball of acid. John rubbed his abdomen and frowned.

“Jean, do you need to go home?” The Mom asked again.

John shook his head. “Fine, then you had better stop frowning. You are going to get wrinkles.”

John smiled and looked off in the distance, “Too late,” he said softly.

The Mom was about to ask another question, when to John’s relief the Choir Members filed out on to the little stage on the field. After a few numbers John felt sleepy and was just about to lean his head on the Mom’s shoulder for a nap, when the Mom nudged him awake. “Jean, don’t go to sleep, look.”

John looked to where the Mom pointed and much to his surprise Sherlock and Mycroft came and stood in front of the Choral Group. The piano player gave Sherlock and Mycroft a pitch and then Sherlock’s clear, sweet voice filled the filled the field with the beautiful haunting melody, “Come Thou Fount of Blessing.” John closed his eyes as Mycroft joined Sherlock in perfect harmony, the choir joined them and after the song the crowd erupted in enthusiastic applause. Then came the piece de résistance, Sherlock singing “ O Mio Babbino Caro,” his voice so pure so pristine, made John’s stomach pain worse and all of a sudden he had to run. Excusing himself John made his way down the treacherous stadium seating and ran like he had never run before. His feet pounded along the ground as he ran like a frightened animal from a raging fire. When John reached the park on Main Street, he promptly threw up in the nearest trash can. The snow cone man rolled his slightly, squeaky cart on the outside of the park and when he turned around, John gasped, for staring at him was not the benevolent snow cone man, but the monovalent Moriarty. John stood frozen to the spot too terrified to move, as the squeaky cart moved slowly towards him. John was just about ready to bolt again when the image of Moriarty faded away and the caring face of the snow cone man looked into John’s eyes, “Jean, are you okay?”

John nodded but walked in a daze down the street, for the free floating anxiety he had often felt back home attacked him in this time like a vengeance. The sounds around him seemed magnified, cars sounded like fighter jets, birds like shrieking parrots in a zoo, and his own heart hammered in his ears like a pair of Kyoto Drums. By the time John walked down Ninth Street towards Cuddles’ house, he was nauseous and his clammy hands shook as he wiped them dry on his skirt. John looked up at the rose covered trellis that shed its protection over a small white picket fenced gate and as he gazed up into the dense rose bush foliage a rose bud fell in a circular pattern towards the ground. John watched its slow descent in horrified fascination. It circulated through the air for a moment and then fell at John’s feet in a lifeless, dried piece of waste. John bent down to pick it up and as the brittle petals filled his hand they crinkled into little pieces that blew away in the wind, “The East Wind,” John thought in despair and then jumped when he heard a whining noise through the gate. John’s movements were spastic as they always were when free floating anxiety attacked him. His body jerked as he saw Cuddles’ dog, Prince, through the gate. Prince was half Collie, half Chow mix and he wagged his tail, as John smiled at the pink lipstick mark on the white spot on his head where Cuddles had kissed him. John reached out to pet him and then took his hand back for Prince was a clever dog that used his innocent Collie markings to fool many a trespasser. Prince was well known to bow his head down and wag his tail, and just as an individual got to the no return portion of the walk way, Prince would block their way and then chase the duped individual towards the gate. Then Prince’s Chow side would come to light as he would delightfully bite the unfortunate person. It had gotten so bad that Cuddles’ parents had been forced to move the mail box on the outside of the fence.

John looked into prince’s loving brown eyes, and then John cautiously reached his hand towards Prince and as his fingers entwined around the soft brown and white fur around Prince’s neck, he knew that the dog was not going to bite him. As if in a trance, John stood up, opened the gate and sat down and wrapped his arms around Prince’s neck. He could feel his anxiety melt away as John buried his face in Prince’s mane. “Good boy,” John whispered as he patted Prince on the neck. “You know just how I feel don’t you?” John said, and as he told Prince all of his troubles, John felt his heart rate slow to its normal rhythm, until he was no longer nauseous and afraid. By the time Cuddles, Toots, Mycroft and Sherlock reached Cuddles’ house, John was happily playing catch with Prince.

As Sherlock, watched John play with Prince, he felt a sense of foreboding and sadness. He had brought such grief and worry into John’s life, that it would have been better if they had never met. Mycroft watched Sherlock, watching John and wanted to say something to make the situation better, but could think of nothing, and so they all watched John play with Prince.

Later in the evening as they all lay in their beds, John got up and ran into the bathroom to throw up several times. Sherlock listened to John’s retching, thinking that if he just lay there quietly, it would stop.

“Sherlock,” Mycroft whispered. “Go to him, reassure him, and tell him everything is going to be okay. You know what free floating anxiety is like, brother mine.”

“So, you want me to lie to him? After all it is my fault he is suffering. Why should he listen to me?” Sherlock snapped as he turned his back on Mycroft.

“Sherlock, John was a broken person when he met you, so lie to him. Tell him everything is going to be okay. Give him some peace of mind, if only temporary.” Mycroft said as he lit a cigarette.

Sherlock watched as the glow from the match momentarily illuminated Mycroft’s expressive eyes, he seemed so…so vulnerable. Just as Sherlock was about to study Mycroft further, Mycroft blew out the match, ending any speculation that Sherlock might have gleaned from the moment. Sherlock sighed and got out of bed making his way towards the bathroom. He tapped softly on the door and then opened the door to reveal John kneeling beside the toilet.

“Sherlock, I’m sorry did I wake you?” John asked in a soft whisper.

Sherlock shook his head and soaked a washcloth in cold water and bent down and put it on John’s forehead. “John,” Sherlock began as he put another cool washcloth on John’s neck. “John, I’m not sure why you’re not feeling well, but everything will be okay. I’m not going anywhere. If we all stick together, we will be fine, and I am learning to be more well…human, right?”

John turned his tear stained face towards Sherlock, “Do you promise?” John asked as his bottom lip trembled.

Sherlock held out his arms, “Come here you,” Sherlock said as he hugged John. “Everything will be fine, pinky swears,” Sherlock repeated with a confidence he didn’t feel. “Now, let’s go to the kitchen and get some saltines and club soda. By the way, you seemed to be having a great time with Prince today. Should I ask the Mom if we can get a dog?” Sherlock asked as he helped John downstairs, for he was still shaking so bad John could barely walk.

Once they were downstairs in the kitchen, Sherlock did impressions of Ricky Ricardo and Lucy, so that John was soon laughing uncontrollably.

John finally stopped laughing and smiled at Sherlock, “Thanks, Sherlock, it’s just that I was so afraid, alone and I thought I saw Moriarty today.”

Sherlock nodded, “John, you are wrong, it’s okay.”

“You mean it wasn’t Moriarty?” John asked.

Sherlock smiled and glanced at the ground and then up at John, “I don’t know if you saw Moriarty or not, all I know is that you’re not alone, so don’t be afraid.”

Like a small child John smiled and ate his crackers and drank his club soda.

 

 

 

 


	8. And a Child Shall Lead Them.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock approached hesitantly, as he stood in front on the dead bird. In his mind he calculated when, where and how the bird died, as the Mom gave instructions. “Well, Sheryl? Have you been listening? I need you to clean the inside of the bird and rub the cavity with salt.”  
> Sherlock bent down and looked at the backside of the turkey, “You want me to do what?”  
> The Mom sighed, “Reach your hand inside and take out the innards, so that I can start on the gravy.”  
> Sherlock’s eyes grew wider as he asked incredulously, “So, am I to understand that you want me to stick my hand inside that dead turkey’s rectum?”   
> The Mom’s face was flushed as she began to soak the cranberries in water, “Sheryl, stop it now. You have to learn sometime, now put your hand up that turkey’s rump and pull out the innards.”

Sherlock burrowed further under the covers as the Mom attempted to wake him and John up. “Come on, you two, it’s Thanksgiving morning, we’ve got lots to do.”

John yawned, “What do you mean? I thought Thanksgiving was all about eating and sitting around watching football.”

“Quit being silly and hurry up, “was all the Mom said as she left the room.

Mycroft was already dressed and looking very smug, “Oh just you wait, you two.”

Sherlock and John looked at each shrugged and got dressed and about a half hour later arrived downstairs in the kitchen. “Jesus, this place looks like a mash unit in Afghanistan,” John thought as he visually took in the thawing Turkey, unpeeled potatoes, squash, cranberries(not the kind in the can), a box of Bisquick, sugar, flour, Crisco. The intense heat of that room made John start to sweat.  The Mom wiped her hands on an apron and walked towards Sherlock, Mycroft, and John as they huddled in the doorway. “Oh, you girls look lovely, here put these on,” the Mom said as she handed an apron to each of them. John took the apron in his hand; it was a full length frilly apron, with hand embroidered cornucopias along the outside and it smelled of oil, flour, and starch from long ago dinners. John had a dreadful childhood, so it was a mystery to him why he felt homesick as he smelled the fabric of the apron.

The Mom clapped her hands and said, “Come on, girls, to your stations, now which one of you is going to help me with the turkey? I’ll let you break the wishbone.”

John knew enough about cooking a turkey to answer, “Um sorry I’m a vegetarian.”

The Mom nodded, “Fine, peel the potatoes.”

“Um I will get the vegetables ready, “ Mycroft answered quickly.

The Mom beamed at Sherlock, “Well, Sheryl, that makes you the special one. Come on over here.”

Sherlock approached hesitantly, as he stood in front on the dead bird. In his mind he calculated when, where and how the bird died, as the Mom gave instructions. “Well, Sheryl? Have you been listening? I need you to clean the inside of the bird and rub the cavity with salt.”

Sherlock bent down and looked at the backside of the turkey, “You want me to do what?”

The Mom sighed, “Reach your hand inside and take out the innards, so that I can start on the gravy.”

Sherlock’s eyes grew wider as he asked incredulously, “So, am I to understand that you want me to stick my hand inside that dead turkey’s rectum?”

The Mom’s face was flushed as she began to soak the cranberries in water, “Sheryl, stop it now. You have to learn sometime, now put your hand up that turkey’s rump and pull out the innards.”

Sherlock approached the turkey, like he would a corpse in the morgue, raised up the flap of skin and pulled out the fore mentioned innards. John and Mycroft stood in the corner laughing as Sherlock calmly piled the ingredients for gravy in a round yellow bowl. After he had done so Sherlock held up the bowl and looked at the bottom. “Wow, this looks like a vintage Pyrex bowl. Why I saw one on the Roadshow valued at around 53 pounds…why that would be around $85 U.S. Dollars.”

“Sheryl, stop jabbering nonsense and get to work,” the Mom commanded and then sighed, “I need to go outside for some fresh air. Now everyone knew that when the Mom went outside for fresh air; it was actually a way for her to sneak cigarette. Everyone knew that the Mom smoked and everyone politely pretended that they didn’t.

When she left the room, Sherlock rounded on John in a sing song voice, “I’m a vegetarian, I can’t help with the turkey. My God, you’ve had your hand up far more rectums than I have and yet you whined to get out of it. Sometimes you repel me with your constant whining. I’m a vegetarian, I’m having nightmares from when I was a soldier and had to shoot and patch people up, poor me I have PTSD. Sherlock why did you let me grieve? Just one phone call that’s all it would have took, blah, blah, blah.”

John’s face got white until he finally broke. “So, what’s held you back from expressing all this before, Sherlock? Why? Is it because we’re girls, or is it because for once in your life you have been experiencing what it’s like to be an actual human being? For the real Sherlock Holmes I know has no feelings at all, he’s just a calculating robot, with no regards for anyone else, it’s all about using his massive intellect to solve the next gruesome murder and then he examines the corpse as if it were that dead turkey over there, with no regard to the person that corpse once was. For to Sherlock Holmes we are all a means to an end, just play things to ease the boredom. I may whine, but I at least I’m not a stuck up, posh, unfeeling, insufferable snob. Why the average teenage girl has more humanity and decency in her little finger, than you have had in your entire miserable life. Sherlock, when a person meets you, it only takes a few seconds for you to cut them down and wish they hadn’t.” John’s face was now white with red blotches as he stared at Sherlock with his fists clenched at his sides and for a moment the only sound in the room was the click, click, of the moving eyes of the black cat clock that hung on the kitchen wall.

“Well, well, girls, stop standing around, let’s get to work,” the Mom said cheerily, as the faint smell of nicotine drifted from her clothes. Silently, Sherlock, John and Mycroft went about their jobs.

By the time the dinner was on the table, John was exhausted and had already thrown up several times. “Sherlock’s right, I’m just a whiny, needy, weak willed person.” He thought as he collapsed in his chair.

The Mom clapped her hands together,”Okay, settle down everyone and take each other’s hands, we’re going to go around the table and each of you is to tell what you are thankful for.” John kept the hand next to Sherlock in a tight fist on his lap, for there was no way he was going to take Sherlock’s hand.  So, as each person told what they were thankful for, John waited with dread for his turn. “Thank God,” Sherlock has to go before me John thought, “Let’s just see what the little genius comes up with,” John thought wickedly.

Everyone looked at Sherlock expectantly, as it was time for his thankful mini-speech, “I’m…,” Sherlock paused and then to his surprise grabbed John’s hand tightly, “I am..thankful for my best friend, Jean…for I was so alone before I met her and I owe…her so much.

John looked down at his plate and then up at the ceiling, “I have many acquaintances but only one best, best friend, so I am thankful for my best friend, Sheryl.”

The last one to say what they were thankful for was Mycroft and as all eyes were fixed on him Mycroft told what he was thankful for, “I am thankful that being a teenage girl has taught me about compassion, that caring can be an advantage and most of all that none of us can ever neutralize the person that might break our hearts. For to do so would make us as cold and unmerciful as those that accuse us as being fragile creatures that roll into a ball at the thought of rejection. For even though the East Wind takes us all in the end, it is the courage of a child that makes us love in spite of it, for without love we are nothing.”

The table erupted in applause and then everyone quieted while grace was said, and then the Mom lit a giant red candle, and everyone ooed and awed. The candle would be lit every holiday after that, until one day it was just a wax stump, that lay protected in the back of the refrigerator.


	9. All the Difference

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John was still smarting from the Thanksgiving insults that Sherlock had hurled at him, and was not anxious to be in the line of fire again; however seeing Sherlock’s pale face and listening to his ramblings made the healer in John take charge. “Sherlock,” John whispered, as he gently led him away from the group, “Sherlock, why don’t you go out in the garden and have a cigarette to assist you in focusing on the festivities?” John dreaded the tongue lashing that Sherlock was sure to give him and was surprised when Sherlock wordlessly acquiesced to his suggestion.

John watched Sherlock as he stood in his baby doll pajamas smoking a cigarette, it must have been about midnight and John could tell from the way Sherlock’s shoulders drooped that he was having trouble controlling the black moods that often plagued him. For a moment John considered to attempt to engage Sherlock in conversation, but Sherlock’s cruel words at Thanksgiving had cut deep and so John rolled over leaving the words to drift away where all unspoken words went-nowhere. For a moment John wondered if there was a place in the universe where all unspoken words and lost socks resided. “Maybe, that’s what they mean, when they say, ‘Stick a Sock in it.’” John thought in an attempt to make himself laugh. When laughter evaded him, John curled up in a ball and let sleep overtook him. When he woke up, Sherlock was curled up asleep on the floor and John could tell by the way Sherlock’s limbs were tightly locked together, that Sherlock was cold. John sighed took the pink chenille bedspread off the bed and covered Sherlock up with it.

Sherlock yawned and looked sleepily up at John, “What time is it?” He asked, his voice sounding like a small child’s.

What was it about the voice of a child that could move a person to tears? John didn’t know as he swallowed down the lump in his throat and answered Sherlock, “It’s about 3 in the morning. Sherlock come back to bed you must be cold.”

Sherlock stood up, wrapped the bedspread around him and waddled over to the bed and got in beside John. He tried to stay curled up, so he wouldn’t touch John, as his teeth chattered from the cold. When Sherlock’s icy foot accidently touched John, he jumped. “Sherlock, you’re ice cold, come here,” John said moving a little closer.

Sherlock didn’t say anything for a moment and then he shakily replied, “I should stay over here so you don’t get cold too. I should stay over here so that I don’t touch you.”

“Sherlock, you’ve already touched me, now put your feet over here, you don’t want to get sick.” John said encouragingly.

As Sherlock hesitantly snuggled closer to John, he felt the cold slowly leave his feet, as it transferred itself to John, and then the cold dissipated, as they both yawned. Sherlock’s last thought before he feel asleep was, “Why were children always in such a hurry to grow up?” For Sherlock observed that as bodies developed and minds evolved into adulthood, snuggling was seldom appreciated for the gift that it was. “John, I appreciate you. John?” Sherlock whispered, but John was already fast asleep and drooling on Sherlock’s shoulder.

It was Christmas time and even though there wasn’t any snow, John the enjoyed the light rain, as he watched it pelt against their bedroom window, even Sherlock couldn’t get him down.  As they sat down to a breakfast of pancakes and sausage, Sherlock just quietly sat there moving his food around in a circle, “Sheryl, don’t play with your food-EAT.” The Mom said.

Sherlock looked up at her, his eyes were red, and his face was pale, which only accentuated the dark circles under his eyes. “Honey, you don’t look so good. Are you okay, sweetheart?” The Mom asked as she felt his forehead. “Maybe you should stay home today.”

Sherlock shook his head, “I’m fine, just tired.”

The Mom took one more look and said, “Okay, honey, but have the nurse call me right away if you feel any worse.”

Sherlock nodded that he understood and then gazed out the ivy covered window, the only thing visible were the gnarled limbs of the plant, for the light from outside had been blocked out long ago by the clinging tentacles of the leaves.

By the end of the school day, Sherlock was exhausted from the black mood battle as John called it, however they both knew that it was depression, for just like Winston Churchill who said, ‘depression is like a black dog that plagues me,’ Sherlock knew what it was like to be pursued by the same unrelenting beast.  Oblivious to Sherlock’s struggle, Cuddles and Toots laughed and joked as they excitedly talked about decorating the silver tinsel tree at Cuddles’ house that night.

“Sheryl, what part of the decorating do you want to do?” Cuddles asked and when Sherlock didn’t answer she asked again,” Sheryl?”

Sherlock shook his head to dispel that dark images that ate away at his sanity, like termites in the beams of a dilapidated house, and smiled, “I trust your judgment implicitly, Cuddles, you pick for me.”

Later that evening at Cuddles’ house, Cuddles’ mom brought over a large unframed mirror and set it on a table in the center of the room, as Cuddles and Toots shook up a can of imitation snow and sprayed it around the outside of the mirror, to give the appearance that the oval in the middle was a frozen lake. One by one the girls put miniature ice skaters, winter clad figures and deer in various places of the Christmas wonderland they were creating.  Sherlock attempted to take place in the proceedings, only to criticize the placement of where the little winter people would reside on the frozen lake. “No, that doesn’t make sense, a deer would never just stand in the middle of a frozen lake like that, or no don’t put the ice skater there, for the ice would be too thin at that part of the lake.”  Sherlock knew he was starting to get out of control, due to all the upfront socializing he had been forced to endure that day, for he soon started jabbering on about the science of how water froze, how far the snow would drift out onto the imitation lake, where a person could ice skate without plunging into the icy waters beneath, until finally John took pity on him.

John was still smarting from the Thanksgiving insults that Sherlock had hurled at him, and was not anxious to be in the line of fire again; however seeing Sherlock’s pale face and listening to his ramblings made the healer in John take charge. “Sherlock,” John whispered, as he gently led him away from the group, “Sherlock, why don’t you go out in the garden and have a cigarette to assist you in focusing on the festivities?” John dreaded the tongue lashing that Sherlock was sure to give him and was surprised when Sherlock wordlessly acquiesced to his suggestion.

Sherlock went into the backyard and through a little gate to where an old chicken coop stood, and with a joy he hadn’t felt in days, he lit up a cigarette and inhaled deeply. He hardly noticed the sharp pinching sensation in his chest he felt every time he took a drag, every mouth hit felt like a small puncture at the back of his throat. Sherlock was so engrossed in the process that he hardly noticed when Cuddles’ dad addressed him. “Sheryl or should I say Sherlock, you seem conflicted.”

Sherlock didn’t know whether he was annoyed at the statement or the fact that Cuddles’ dad had taken him by surprise. “You have the patent ability to overstate the obvious.”  Sherlock snapped.

Cuddles’ dad didn’t answer for so long that Sherlock thought he had drifted off so that when he spoke it had a dramatic effect on Sherlock. “Sherlock, you must resolve this conflict, or you will never know the fleeting joys that make this life bearable. You see, Sherlock, you pride yourself on your intellect, the ability of your fine mind to deduce and calculate, but Sherlock you are not a machine, you are human and not immune to the frailties that a person faces every day. You pride yourself on being a high functioning socio path and yet you have the capacity of caring for those closest to you. Sherlock, you have a heart and just because you don’t want it broken, doesn’t mean that it will not happen. For caring for those you love makes a person stronger, not weaker. Sherlock, use that fine mind of yours but never forget your heart, for that is where your strength comes from.”

Sherlock was just about ready to give Cuddles’ dad a piece of his mind, when a small, brown field mouse poked its head out of his pocket. Cuddle’s dad put a finger to his lips for Sherlock to be quiet and as they both became silent; three small baby mice crawled out of the pocket as well. Cuddles’ dad fed them bread crumbs as they each patiently waited for their turn. Then a small noise frightened the mice and they all scurried for safety in Cuddles’ dad’s pocket once more.

Sherlock lit up another cigarette, “So, what was the lesson Doctor Doolittle? Mice are just vermin, you should kill them not nurture them,” Sherlock scoffed.

Cuddles’ dad smiled and said, “Perhaps, you’re right, but I just couldn’t let them be killed at the warehouse where I work.”

Sherlock lit another cigarette and frowned, “Why not? It’s naïve to think you can save the world. I mean what does it matter that you saved one field mouse and her offspring? Has it made the world a better place? No, it hasn’t changed anything.” Sherlock said bitterly.

Cuddles’ dad smiled, “Sherlock, it made all the difference in the world to mouse and her offspring. You see, it doesn’t take mental acuity to rescue someone or something; it takes heart.”

Sherlock was about to reply when Cuddles’ dad turned and silently and left. Sherlock stamped his feet to keep warm and then ventured into the warmth of the house. When he entered the living room all the girls were laughing and singing along with the song, “Santa Baby.”

Sherlock stood on the edge of the group, not sure of where or even if he fit in. John spotted Sherlock first and was not sure whether to approach him or not, so John just smiled and motioned for Sherlock to join the group. Sherlock paused for a moment, as the conflict raged within him and then he joined the group. As he fought the urge to criticize and berate, Sherlock joined the girls in singing Christmas Carols and by the end of the night he felt better, protected and those feelings; however fleeting made all the difference in the world to him.


	10. Where Angels Fear to Tread

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft sighed again, “Sherlock, someday we are bound to get back to our time and then you will be Sherlock and John will be John. How do you think John is going to feel when you regulate him back to blogger, errand boy, science experiment, and once in a great while if John is lucky, friend?”  
> Sherlock remained speechless, as he looked over at John laughing uncontrollably, his head back, his pony tail swaying as a fit of giggling overtook him. Mycroft laid a hand on Sherlock’s tense arm. “Just how strong do you think John is brother mine?”

“Christmas Eve is so full of excitement and everyone seems bound and determined for me to get into the spirit of things,” Mycroft thought sourly; as he put his hands over his ears to keep from listening to John, Sherlock, Cuddles and Toots sing the Alvin and the Chipmunks song again. The third time around Mycroft could take no more, “Stop singing that blasted song,” he bellowed.

Everyone looked back at Mycroft, giggled and called him an old Scrooge. Mycroft sighed put his arms across his chest and glared at Sherlock. “Sheryl, get over here,” Mycroft snapped.

Sherlock sighed, rolled his eyes and stood before Mycroft, “Well, what is it?”

“Sherlock, you forget yourself. It is so unlike you to get into the…Christmas Spirit.” Mycroft said as he sneered at Sherlock.

Sherlock rolled his eyes again, “I’m bored and there isn’t much well recreational medicine to relieve my sense of ennui, therefore it made perfect sense to just go along with the singing,” Sherlock said as he pointedly matched Mycroft’s glare.

“Sherlock, you forget yourself. You are a creature of science, a persona of deduction, a person of logic, unemotional, socio…”

Sherlock interrupted Mycroft, “Fine, you’ve made your point. Come to think of it. What exactly is your point?”

Mycroft’s expression had changed to one of sadness as he said, “Sherlock, brother mine, don’t you think you’ve hurt John enough?”

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed, “What are you talking about?”

Mycroft sighed again, “Sherlock, someday we are bound to get back to our time and then you will be Sherlock and John will be John. How do you think John is going to feel when you regulate him back to blogger, errand boy, science experiment, and once in a great while if John is lucky, friend?”

Sherlock remained speechless, as he looked over at John laughing uncontrollably, his head back, his pony tail swaying as a fit of giggling overtook him. Mycroft laid a hand on Sherlock’s tense arm. “Just how strong do you think John is brother mine?”

John sensing Sherlock’s mood stopped laughing and motioned for Sherlock to join them. “Come on Sheryl.” When Sherlock stood and stared at John as if seeing him for the first time, John knew something was wrong. Clumsily John hoisted himself off the ground and made his way over to where Sherlock stood. “Hey, Sherlock, are you okay?”

Without a word Sherlock walked away, went to the door and went outside. John turned around and glared at Mycroft, “Can’t you even let him have a good Christmas? What did you say to him anyway?” John snapped as he circled Mycroft as if he were an object of prey.

Mycroft stared down at John and said, “John, I really do have Sherlock’s best interests at heart. Let me give you an allegory.  A man saved a wolf cub from the wild and hand raised it, he loved the cub and soon forgot that the wolf was a wild animal. One day the wolf turned on the man and injured the man seriously. The man released the wolf into the wild and mourned his loss. John, which party do you suppose was the most grief stricken, the man or the wolf?” When John didn’t answer Mycroft continued, “They both were, for the wolf had to remember how to kill and hunt, and the man had to remember what is was like to be alone. In conclusion, it would have been better if they had kept their distance from one another.”

John shook his head, “Mycroft, you can’t let anyone be happy can you?”

Mycroft looked at John and smiled like one would at a small puppy, “John, I have Sherlock’s best interests at heart and incidentally yours as well.”

John gave Mycroft a highly inappropriate gesture and then went outside to find Sherlock. The night was cold and John’s breath came out in smoky wisps around his face. Sherlock sat on the porch smoking, with one hand around the dog Prince and John thought how peaceful they both looked. “Sherlock, are you okay?”

Sherlock looked up at John his eyes watering from the cold. “I’m fine John, just bored.”

John nodded and sat down next to Sherlock. As John’s legs touched the cold cement of the porch, he began to shiver. “What did Mycroft say to you?”

Sherlock inhaled a drag so long that John thought he would smoke the whole cigarette in one breath. “John, you need to leave me alone. It isn’t safe for you to be too near me.”

John snuggled closer to Sherlock, “Did he tell you that awful story about the wolf and the man?”

Sherlock edged away from John, “No, now go back in,” Sherlock said firmly, as if asking a dog to sit.

John shrugged and with his shoulders slumped went back into the warm cheerful house. Everyone was lighting candles and singing Christmas Carols like Silent Night and so forth. It was almost midnight and John went to where he had put Sherlock’s gift under the tree. Grabbing a blanket off the couch, and a cup of hot chocolate John ran outside to where Sherlock was sitting. John draped the blanket over Sherlock’s shoulders and handed him the cup of hot chocolate. Sherlock’s eyes were still watering as he looked up at John, “John, why did you give me the blanket and the hot chocolate?”

John scratched his head, “You seemed cold.”

Sherlock looked back up at John, “What about yourself, aren’t you cold?”

John laughed, “I guess it’s more important to me that you remain warm.”

Sherlock took another long drag and asked sarcastically, “Do you think I need rescuing…John?”

Without a word John sat down next to Sherlock, took a hairbrush from his pocket, released Sherlock’s hair from the scarf that held it up and began to brush his hair. “Yes, Sherlock I do. Wolf or no Wolf, I don’t care, we both need each other.” John said as he took Sherlock’s smooth hair in his hands and brushed it again.

“I don’t need anyone,” Sherlock said as he hunched further over.

John laughed, “Sherlock, you do; now close your eyes and hold out your hands.”

When Sherlock noted that John was not going to go away he sighed and closed his eyes. When Sherlock opened his eyes there was a small box lying in his lap. “John, you got me a Christmas present?”

John nodded excitedly, “Yes, yes now open it.”

Sherlock ripped off the wrapping paper, and lifted the lid of the box, inside lay a beautiful pipe and a small magnifying glass. John leaned into Sherlock, “It’s a pipe for when we get back home and the magnifying glass to remind you of your greatest achievements as a detective.”

Sherlock nodded and looked away, “Thank you, John, but I didn’t get you a gift.”

John waved him off, “Sherlock, your companionship is my gift.”

Sherlock was about to tell John to leave and was surprised to find himself saying, “John, thank you so much for the gifts, but I consider my greatest achievement not to be that of a detective, it is your friendship that is my greatest achievement.” Sherlock whispered.

Tears were openly falling down Sherlock’s face as he pulled away from John, “John, I am a cruel insensitive person that will hurt you again and again.”

John put his arms around Sherlock, “Sherlock, be the wolf, just remember that no matter what I am your friend.”

Sherlock looked up at John in wonder, “John…”

John hugged Sherlock again, “It’s alright, and you really have to stop listening to your brother and by the way it’s after midnight, Merry Christmas, Sherlock.”

Sherlock nodded and wiped his face off on the blanket. For a moment they just stared out at the night sky at the brilliant stars, as the sounds of Silent Night reached them from inside.

“Silent night, holy night, all is calm, all is bright…”

Mycroft stood at the window looking out at John and Sherlock and thought,” that it was indeed true that fools rushed in where angels feared to tread.”

 

 


	11. New Years

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft smirked, “Never brother dear, the world could come to an end and you would still be the greatest detective I or anyone else has ever known. Let’s go outside and have a cigarette, my nerves are on edge.”  
> Sherlock looked at Mycroft sharply, “You feel it too, a kind of dark storm?”  
> Mycroft nodded and said, “Coming, Sherlock?

Sherlock looked at himself in the mirror, it was New Year’s Eve and he, Mycroft, John, Cuddles and Toots, had all been invited to a New Year’s Eve party. John looked over at Sherlock as he looked at himself in the mirror, he was wearing a long pink formal with a matching pink mask, John was wearing a gold formal with a matching gold mask, and Mycroft was wearing a blue dress with a matching blue mask. “I have to say we all look marvelous,” Sherlock said as he twirled around in his formal. John laughed as the big, puffy part of the dress flared out like a beach umbrella. The three of them were going to meet Cuddles and Toots at the party and Mycroft was going to drive them in the Mom’s car to the party.

As they walked into the house where the party was being held, Sherlock had to admit that the room was decorated with a type of style that was seldom taken with New Year’s parties in present day London. Gold and silver streamers hung from the ceiling, music played softly on a record player in the corner of the living room and most of the furniture had been moved to allow couples to dance if they wanted to. Happy kids ate popcorn, candy and drank punch, anxiously waiting for the clock to strike midnight. Sherlock was bored at first and then he began to relax, as he watched the revelers from the sidelines. It seemed strange to attend a New Year’s party where everyone was so optimistic and unafraid of the future.

John, Cuddles, and Toots beckoned for Sherlock to join them in a hula hoop contest. Sherlock smiled shyly and remained where he was. Mycroft leaned over to speak to Sherlock, “Sherlock, why don’t you join them?”

Sherlock smiled and shook his head and then looked trustingly over at Mycroft, “Mycroft, do you think we will ever get home?”

Mycroft hadn’t heard Sherlock ask such a simplistic question since he was a child and he found it unnerved him. “Sherlock, brother dear, none us can predict the future. For once in your life you are going to have to wing it.”

Sherlock frowned, “Mycroft we had a stable home as children do you agree?”

Mycroft wasn’t sure where Sherlock was going with the conversation, “Yes, why do you ask?”

“The one thing that has played on mind since we have been here is that I feel less defensive and it concerns me. It makes me feel as if I’m losing my edge, my mental acuity.”

Mycroft smirked, “Never brother dear, the world could come to an end and you would still be the greatest detective I or anyone else has ever known. Let’s go outside and have a cigarette, my nerves are on edge.”

Sherlock looked at Mycroft sharply, “You feel it too, a kind of dark storm?”

Mycroft nodded and said, “Coming, Sherlock?                                                                                

Sherlock and Mycroft stood outside in the cold and lit their cigarettes. Mycroft looked up at the sky and watched the stars as they seemed to shimmer. “Do you remember the times when mother took us outside to look at the stars on New Year’s Eve?”

Sherlock nodded as he took another drag on his cigarette, “Yes, and I remember the time I corrected her about why stars shimmered, not magic, just atmospheric disturbance.”

Mycroft didn’t smile back he just drew another long drag on his cigarette, “Sherlock, go on join the hula hoop contest.  This is your time to just be you, so go on brother mine.”

Sherlock finished his cigarette and then went into the house. As soon as Cuddles and Toots spotted him they squealed with laughter, “Come on Sheryl, try the hula hoop out.”

John was laughing too, “Come on Sherloayl let’s see some hip action.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and sighed as he held out his hand for the hula hoop. For a few moments he eyed it speculatively and then stepped into it. The hula hoop wobbled around his waist for a few seconds and then clattered to the floor. Not to be undone by a child’s toy from the 1950’s, Sherlock picked up the hula hoop again, took a deep breath relaxed, moved his hips in slow motion and then just like magic Sherlock found his center of gravity. Like the rings around Saturn, the hula hoop orbited around Sherlock’s waist like it was a natural part of him. Ignoring the cheers of the crowd that had gathered around him, Sherlock reveled in the physical challenge of keeping the hula hoop in motion.

“Come on, everyone it’s time for the New Year’s Eve countdown,” someone from the crowd shouted.  “10, 9, 8…” everyone screamed in unison.  Sherlock looked over at John as he counted off as enthusiastically as the rest of the group and then John’s expression changed as his dark, blue eyes resumed the never ending haunted look they reflected in modern day London.

“7,6…” Sherlock ignored the count down as the hula hoop lost its momentum, and swirled around his waist, then his upper thighs, then his knees and until it finally lay in an unmoving heap at his feet. Sherlock mouthed the words, “What’s wrong?”

Before John could answer the host of the party screamed, “Masks on and lights off, 4,3,2,1.” The lights went out and Sherlock felt cold lips kissing his ear, “Happy New Year, Sherlock, did you miss me?”

As the lights came on Sherlock slid his mask up as the person who stood before him did the same and there like a mirrored reflection he and Moriarty faced each other.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

                                                                                                       


	12. New Year's Surprise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evil Moriarty finds Sherlock and John and the 1950's will never be the same.

In one instant John felt his whole world crashing down around him as Moriarty put his arm around Sherlock’s waist and grinned wickedly at John, “Now, John you are the sweetest one of all, you missed me didn’t you Johnny?”

John was too stunned to reply, for the evil Moriarty as a man was truly frightening, but evil Moriarty as a teenager was even more so. Moriarty smiled slyly at John and was about to say something else when Toots came rushing up, “Oh, I see you’ve met my new boyfriend, Jim, isn’t he just the living end?”

Sherlock used this opportunity to wriggle free from Moriarty’s grasp and rushed to John’s side. Toots laughed when she saw the look on Sherlock’s face. “Oh, don’t worry Sheryl, Jim is harmless, he’s just a big flirt.” Toots said as she slapped Moriarty’s arm. “Jim, you’ve scared Sheryl, now apologize at once.”

Moriarty stepped forward and took Sherlock’s cold hand in his, and bent down and kissed it, letting his lips linger on Sherlock’s hand for a lengthy time. He then looked up at Sherlock with a malevolent glare and whispered, “I beg your forgiveness Sheryl, from the bottom of my heart.”

Sherlock jerked his hand out of Moriarty’s grasp, grabbed John’s arm and went in search of Mycroft. Sherlock looked around the room full of noisy New Year’s Eve revelers and for a moment felt a surge of pity, for their 1950’s Camelot would soon fall, never to return, he looked down at his pink pumps for a moment and then spotted Mycroft across the room. Without a word Mycroft recognized Sherlock’s look of sadness, fear, and anger, “something must be terribly wrong,” Mycroft thought as he looked at Sherlock’s stricken face, his pallor was white and he clung tightly to John’s hand as if it were a helium balloon that he didn’t want to fly away. Then Mycroft spotted Moriarty across the room dancing with Toots as he made his way over to where John and Sherlock stood.

“Sherlock, everything is going to be okay,” Mycroft said softly.

Sherlock didn’t respond. He just stood there clinging to John’s hand until John’s fingers lost all feeling. John didn’t try to pull away he just moved an inch or two closer to Sherlock, in a protective move. Mycroft sighed and thought, “Those two will never learn, for as each sought to protect the other one, they both became lost.” Mycroft hated the way he could see into the future and so he took out his frustration on Sherlock as was his usual pattern. “Come on, brother mine, let’s go, and don’t forget your little pet, John.” Mycroft said angrily as he grabbed Sherlock’s hand, roughly pulling him through the crowd of people with party hats, whistles, streamers, and balloons-happiness. “Happiness, would it always evade John and Sherlock? Why can’t the universe let them be?” Mycroft thought as he yanked once more on Sherlock’s hand.


	13. Polio

As John, Sherlock and Mycroft ran for the car, the sky opened up and pelted them with rain, so that by the time they got in the car, they were all shivering with cold.  Mycroft stuck the key in the ignition and let engine warm up, glaring over at Sherlock as he did so. “For God’s sake, Sherlock quit that teeth chattering, it’s not that cold, grab a blanket out of the backseat and shut up.” Sherlock reached over the back seat, grabbed the green, striped blanket that Mycroft referred to and covered himself and John with it. John snuggled closer to Sherlock, for as they drove away, he swore he could hear Moriarty laughing.

Mycroft glanced over at Sherlock and John and rolled his eyes, “For God’s sake, quit that snuggling.”

John’s blue eyes widened as he stared innocently back at Mycroft, “Why not he’s my friend and we’re both cold.”

Mycroft braked at a stop sign, not bothering to reply to John’s query, the swish of the windshield wipers the only sound in the cab, a honk from a car behind them jolted Mycroft back to reality, and as he stepped on the gas, the car hydroplaned for a moment or two before it righted itself and Mycroft was grateful for the sturdiness of the automobiles from the 1950’s, for a modern car would have most likely spun out of control. By the time they got home, Sherlock’s forehead was hot, as he tried to massage the stiffness out of his neck, and as they trudged upstairs, John put his hand against Sherlock’s cheek, “My God, you’re burning up,” John said as he took Sherlock’s hand and led him to the bedroom. Mycroft watched John as he fussed over Sherlock like a mother hen and helped him into his pajamas, and pulled him close under the covers.

Mycroft curled up in a ball and turned his back on them both. “I’m cold too and nobody gives a damn,” he thought as he burrowed further under his own blanket.

By the next morning, it was clear that Sherlock had more than just the common cold, for his body shook with chills, as he complained about the pain and stiffness in his neck, and then promptly vomited all over John the bed, finally ending up on the floor. John rushed to Sherlock’s side and yelled at Mycroft fearfully, “Mycroft, get the Mom, Sherlock needs to get to a hospital NOW.”

John held Sherlock close as the Mom drove like a car racer from the days when the circle of the city of Corona, was used as a race track by famous drivers such as Barney Oldfield.  The Mom barely had set the car in park, as she rushed into the emergency room and a few moments later Sherlock was gently taken from John’s arms and rushed away on a gurney, leaving the rest of the party to make their way to the waiting room in silence. The muted green color of the chairs and wall seemed to close in on them and John marveled at how almost everyone in the room was smoking a cigarette. He was not given ample time to reflect on the unhealthy ritual everyone seem to be enjoying as they inhaled and exhaled, for across the room came the Doctor, his face pale, his lips white and drawn and John knew even before he spoke that it was bad news. The Doctor took the Mom’s hands in his own and caught her before she hit the floor as she fainted dead away when the Doctor spoke the most dreaded words of the 1950’s. “I’m sorry to tell you Sheryl has contracted the Polio Virus.”

 


	14. Moriarty's Solution

John felt as if the whole room was turning sideways and when he spoke his voice sounded as if was coming from across the room, “Mycroft, wasn’t Sherlock vaccinated as a baby for Polio?” John said as he sank to the ground clutching his chest.

Mycroft ran across the way to the Pharmacy and came back with a paper bag, “Here, John breathe in this bag, you’ve got to get your breathing under control or you’re going to hyperventilate or pass out.”

John nodded and we he got his breathing under control, he looked up at Mycroft with tears, “Mycroft, please answer my question.”

Mycroft looked out in the distance and when he spoke his voice was soft and speculative, “Sherlock did get all his vaccinations as a baby, but we are all changed in this timeline,” Mycroft said as he looked over at John’s chest. “So, it would make sense that our bodies are different. After all you no longer have that deviated septum nasal tone in your voice that I have always found annoying and that Sherlock had always found so adorable. For every time you spoke back home in London it sounded as if you had a head full of mucus and I would glare at you in disgust and Sherlock…Sherlock would smile…that half…sideways…smile that Sherlock reserved only for you and perhaps Redbeard.”

John sniffed as he took Mycroft’s outstretched hand and clumsily stood up, “So, Sherlock would smile at me?”

Mycroft nodded affirmatively.  

“And you think I have the same status with Sherlock as Redbeard?” John asked as he blew his nose on a lace hankie he pulled out of his purse.

“Yes, John, you mean the world to Sherlock; you are his center, the heart of his existence.” Mycroft said as he smiled sadly at John, for it seemed that one of the weaknesses of the human condition was that many individuals didn’t realize what they meant to each other until the existence of one or the other was compromised.

John looked at Mycroft with that wide eyed innocent look that Mycroft despised and said, “Mycroft, if I mean the world to Sherlock, then why does he treat me the way he does? Telling me not to talk, get another cab, leaving me to get arrested, drugging me, insulting my intelligence, how can Sherlock really care and treat me that way? He takes me for granted.”

Mycroft clasped his hands behind his back and looked down at the floor, “That is the tragedy of it all, John. For Sherlock knows how he feels about you and yet he fights it, afraid to let his soul be taken by another and what Sherlock doesn’t know is that by doing so he will be bereft-alone, like me.”

John had no time to contemplate Mycroft’s words as the Doctor and the Mom both approached. “Girls,” the Mom began in a shaky voice. “Sheryl is being observed but the Doctor believes that due to her severe symptoms that she has Paralytic Polio...and that…” The Mom’s voice trailed off as she burst into tears again.

The Doctor stepped forward; his face haggard and bitter from not having the tools to fight for his patients, for all he could do was helplessly watch as the disease ravaged them and twisted their limbs like a biological tornado.  “Girls, Sheryl is very ill, but there is nothing you can do to alleviate the situation, so you must go straight home and remember you are under quarantine until we can be certain that you have been spared. Funny thing, this case I don’t understand why this occured in January, for it is always virulent in the summer. It’s almost as if someone or something injected her…” The Doctor’s voice trailed off as he looked at the terrified faces in front of him. “Now is the time to pray for nothing on earth can help her now,” the Doctor said and then he turned and left not able to endure the devastation that his diagnosis had upon yet another family.

John’s face was pale as he looked at Mycroft and mouthed the word, “Moriarty.”  


	15. By Your Side

The drive home was silent and John was so tense that his face and jaw ached from the sorrow that tightened every muscle in his body. Once they were home the Mom put the car in park and ran inside, up the stairs to her room, and as John and Mycroft stood in the entryway they could hear her sobbing uncontrollably. Like automatons they moved up the stairs one step at a time until they reached their room, it was strangely empty without Sherlock and as John sat down with a heavy thumb on the edge of the bed he wondered how he would survive the grief of losing Sherlock yet again.

“Mycroft, how are we going to do this?” John asked as he leaned forward in an effort to control the nausea that was brewing in his stomach.

“How are we going to do what?” Mycroft asked flatly.

“This,” John gestured around the empty room. “This…This losing Sherlock, for we will lose him someday, Mycroft, we will.”

Mycroft sighed and pulled a cigarette out of his purse, not caring if he was in the house or not, he lit the round cylinder of comfort and took a deep drag. “John, we all are lost and alone in the end.”

John wrinkled his brow in anger as he raised his voice in reply, “What the hell is that supposed to mean? Do you ever think before you speak? You’re just like him, just like…Sherlock.”

Mycroft didn’t reply he just calmly kept puffing on his cigarette until John leaned over and made a grab for Mycroft’s purse, “If all you’re going to do is smoke then I want one too.” John snapped as he rifled through the small handbag’s contents. After a few moments he found what he was looking for, however his hands were shaking so bad that he couldn’t even control the small lighter.

Mycroft quietly walked over and took the lighter from John’s hand, “Here John let me before you catch yourself on fire.”

After a few awkward movements Mycroft lit John’s cigarette, after the initial lighting John started to cough until tears ran down his face. “Jesus, how can you two stand these things?” John coughed and spluttered a few more times and then lay back against the bed. “You know it’s not just the fact that I am afraid of losing Sherlock, it’s everything about the future. Pain, sickness, death, grief, the loss of loved ones are all part of being human and I above all should be able to accept that as a Doctor, but Mycroft I’m scared. Sometimes I just want to hide for I feel that as each day goes by and I am unscathed that I have evaded the gods of fate for yet another day, but my luck will run out one day and Sherlock will be….gone and I…” John sniffed and then continued on, “I will be left alone to deal with everything. Mycroft, I’m not strong enough I can’t take it.”

Mycroft rolled over on his side and looked into John’s tearful eyes, “Yet you continue on every day. John you are strong enough, for you are a soldier, a healer and the person that Sherlock loves most in this world or any other, for those that love are always the vulnerable ones and those that love are the true heroes, for they go where angels fear to tread.”

After finishing his cigarette John rolled over and despite his frantic worrying over Sherlock’s welfare he fell asleep and then around midnight the phone rang. Its shrill sound shrieking through the house like a fire alarm and even before the Mom answered the phone John dreaded the moment she picked up the receiver, for when the receiver was held to her ear and the words on the other end spoken aloud there would be no taking the message back. “Maybe it’s a prank call,” John thought hopefully and then a sound as shrill as the ringing phone ripped through the house making the hairs on the back of John’s neck stand up on end. He and Mycroft got up and ran downstairs to where the Mom sat sobbing on the floor.

John knew he should ask, but he just couldn’t, he just couldn’t ask anything, eventually John regained his courage and his voice echoed back at him as if he were in a tunnel, “Is Sherlock---I mean Sheryl is she….”

The Mom held out both of her hands to Mycroft and John, “Girls, Sheryl has taken a turn for the worse, she can’t breathe and they’ve had to put her on an iron lung. Oh dear God what are we going to do? They won’t even let us see her because of the quarantine. Oh my poor baby,” the Mom wailed as Mycroft smoothed her hair down, he turned around to look for John but John was gone rushing to Sherlock’ side, a place where angels feared to tread.

    


	16. A Study in Pink-Homecoming

John ran down the hallway of the hospital, somehow knowing that Sherlock’s essence was ebbing away. He skidded to a halt, as his shoes slipped on the glassy surface of the lanoline tiles. “Damn, I will never get used to these saddle oxfords,” John swore as he struggled to remain upright. A figure in a white coat turned around and giggled as he watched John regain his balance.

“Why, John have I ever told you how adorable you look in that frock? I swear I could slit your throat right here. Can you see it John, your blood flowing down your amply endowed power blue sweater, all while Sherlock watched, helpless to save you?” Moriarty threw back his head and laughed. “Well, I guess I will have to be satisfied with watching you, watching Sherlock die. Life is good, isn’t it John? Oh, look how poor Sherlock struggles to breathe in that iron lung-his coffin.”

John felt as if he were going to faint as he looked through the observation window to where Sherlock lay strapped in that horrible contraption. He tapped on the window and smiled as Sherlock weakly turned his head to look in John’s direction. “Sherlock,” John mouthed as he struggled to keep Moriarty from seeing the tears that were forming in his eyes.

Moriarty clapped his hands together, “Oh my, this is going to be wonderful. Keep your eyes fixed on him. See how his face is turning gray and how he shivers? You’re a Doctor, how long would you say he has? Two maybe three minutes? Poor, poor John how you suffer, for you feel everything he does, don’t you? Well, say goodbye to Sherlock, Johnny, for I have won. Death will always be on my side. There is nothing more powerful.” Moriarty whispered.

John’s head snapped to attention as he looked Moriarty full in the face, “You’re wrong, there is something more powerful than death. There is love.” Without another word John shoved past Moriarty and entered Sherlock’s room.

Sherlock looked horrified as he whispered, “John, no, I’m contagious.”

John smiled at Sherlock and said softly, “My detective, my genius, my friend, my life.” He then looked back at Moriarty and kissed Sherlock on the lips. It was not a kiss of passion, or unfulfilled longing, for the kiss was not stolen; it was given freely and just like a prince kissing his princess, John’s lips lightly touched Sherlock’s. At first nothing happened, then Sherlock’s eyes widened as his head drooped to the side. “Noooooo,” John shouted just as everything blurred out of focus. Moriarty screamed in frustration as they both disappeared for he had forgotten that there was nothing more powerful in this world or the next as true love’s kiss.

John opened his eyes. “Where am I?”  He thought as he looked around him. “I seem to be in a grass filled meadow,” John said softy as he sat up and felt the green leafy blades beneath him. Then he saw Sherlock curled up beside him. Sherlock was no longer a girl, but neither was he the Sherlock that John knew in London either, for the Sherlock that sat up and looked at him was a much younger Sherlock, an unscarred Sherlock.

“John?” Sherlock asked as he stared at John’s face, for it was a young face maybe eighteen or nineteen. John’s frown lines were gone, the puffy circles under his eyes were non-existent as well, and he looked peaceful for his eyes held none of the haunted look like they did in London.

“Sherlock, do you think we are dead?” John asked in a small voice.

Sherlock stood up and looked around at their surroundings; they appeared to be on grassy hill that overlooked a small train station. “Come on, let’s find out where we are,” Sherlock said as he held out a hand to help John up.

John took Sherlock’s hand and noticed that it was not cold and clammy with stress like it was in London, it was warm-vibrant. “Sherlock, do you think we’re in heaven?” John asked as he held tightly to Sherlock’s hand.

Sherlock sighed, “John, I don’t believe in heaven and if by chance I am wrong, you and I would hardly merit the dubious distinction of such angelic bliss.”

John laughed, “Sherlock, it’s so good to…well you know…”

Sherlock smiled back and said, “Yes.”

As they made their way to the train platform, a woman stood waiting, and when she turned to look at Sherlock and John, he gasped, for it was the woman from a study in pink except she was alive and younger, much younger, her face fresh, clean, no lipstick, no eye shadow, no mascara to hide the pain behind her expression. She waved at Sherlock and John and then turned her attention to an oncoming train, its whistle shrill and clear as it chugged to a stop at the platform. Several passengers disembarked and faded away as they made their way to their destinations, only one remained, a small girl around five or six that ran towards the woman in pink shouting, “Mummy, Mummy.” The woman in pink bent down and gathered the girl in her arms, buried her face in the girl’s hair, and said, “Rachael, I’ve missed you.”

Sherlock and John looked at each other, but had no time for contemplation for in the distance they could heard a dog barking. The dog’s body quivered in excitement for like the woman in pink he had also been waiting for a long time, for the special someone that had been his world-his boy-Sherlock.

Sherlock stared at the dog that ran towards him and even before he could clearly make out his features Sherlock knew it was Redbeard, his childhood pet-his best friend. Before Sherlock knew it Redbeard was jumping on him, licking his face, as his hot dog biscuit breath filled Sherlock’s nostrils. “Redbeard,” Sherlock said as he tried unsuccessfully to keep Redbeard from knocking him down. Like a sack of potatoes Sherlock fell to the ground laughing as Redbeard pawed at his chest.

John smiled and thought that for the first time since he had known Sherlock that Sherlock must be wrong for they definitely appeared to be having an afterlife experience.

John looked down at Sherlock and asked, “Sherlock, where do you really think we are?”  His question went unanswered for Sherlock was laughing so hard he had started to hiccup.

 

 


	17. Slow Train Comin'

“Sherlock,” John said in order to get Sherlock’s attention as he played with Redbeard.

After a few moments of wrestling with Redbeard, Sherlock looked up at John, “Yes, John what is it?”

John pointedly looked at Sherlock and asked, “Where do you think we are?”

Sherlock shrugged, “Who cares,” and was about to play with Redbeard again when a figure walking towards them caught his attention. John followed the direction of Sherlock’s glance and gasped inwardly, for coming towards them was none other than Mycroft. Not the sneering, sarcastic, stuffy Mycroft he knew, but a young, carefree unfettered Mycroft. Redbeard broke away from Sherlock and ran to greet Mycroft, jumping on him until Mycroft fell to the ground.

In vain Mycroft rolled to one side and then the other, but could not avoid the slobbery kisses that Redbeard was subjecting him to. “Yuck,” Mycroft said as Redbeard’s tongue licked the outside of his lips. “Sherlock, get your dog off me.”

Sherlock called to Redbeard and as Mycroft watched the dog and Sherlock play, a sense of guilt overcame him. Pushing himself off the ground Mycroft walked over to where Sherlock was rolling on the ground with Redbeard, making dog noises. “Sherlock, Sherlock, SHERLOCK,” Mycroft yelled.

Redbeard sat and looked curiously at Mycroft, moving his head sideways one way then the other, as Sherlock put a protective arm around his neck. “What is it?” Sherlock snapped.

Mycroft looked down at the ground and then back up into Sherlock’s eyes, “Sherlock, I’m sorry.”

Sherlock moved his head to one side like Redbeard, “For what?”

Mycroft scuffed at the grass with his foot, “You know… for chasing… you and Redbeard that day…for if I hadn’t you wouldn’t have fallen in the river and Redbeard wouldn’t have you know…died.”

Sherlock smiled over at Redbeard, “Should we forgive him?” After pretending to listen to the dog’s answer, Sherlock looked up, “We forgive you. Now bugger off so we can play,” and without another word Sherlock jumped up and ran away with Redbeard barking at his heels.

Mycroft and John looked at each other, then back towards Sherlock’s retreating figure. Before they could speak a boy came and stood before them, he smiled as he crooked his finger at John. John bent down as the boy whispered into his ear, “John, get Sherlock or you’ll miss the train.” It was only when he stood up that John looked at the boy’s tennis shoes, he had seen them before, but where? Then his eyes widened, “Carl,...Carl Powers is that you?” The boy nodded solemnly and then pointed in Sherlock’s direction, “Get him, John for the train is coming, hurry.”

John looked over at Mycroft and said, “Come on, help me get Sherlock.”

Mycroft shook his head sadly, “John, it’s always been you and always will be. Sherlock won’t listen to me, so go make haste and bring him. I will be waiting for you both at the station.”

John ran through the grass and marveled how he didn’t need to stop to catch his breath; he had to hurry for he could hear a shrill train whistle in the distance. He ran faster and faster, his legs spinning like the wheels of a locomotive. As he ran John passed a man playing the blues on his guitar, and it was only until he moved away from the man that he heard the words that he was singing,

****_“There's a slow train coming. It's movin' on down the line_  
Steel wheels on iron rails   
Tonight I'm fixin' to die   
Woo, I hope you don't mind pretty mama   
Woo-hoo, hope you don't mind if I go   
  
'Cause when the steam from the slow train rises   
I ain't gonna see you anymore” 

John ran faster, but no matter how much distance he put between himself and the blues musician, John could still hear the words clearly. “Cause when the steam from the slow train rises I ain’t gonna see you anymore.”


	18. It is it is a Glorious Thing to be a Pirate King

“SHERLOCK,” John screamed, it was a haunting sound that tore through Sherlock’s mind and then his heart for it was the same anguished cry that John had yelled out just before Sherlock had jumped…jumped off the roof of St. Bart’s and then against all laws of physics, the space between John and Sherlock disappeared in an instant leaving them both standing face to face so that if either of them had moved a centimeter their noses would have been touching. Sherlock stood so still that Redbeard grew impatient and nudged his head underneath Sherlock’s hand for a pat. Smiling Sherlock knelt down and indulged Redbeard and then stood up, gazing into John’s eyes with a silent farewell.

John shook his head in denial, “No, nope, Sherlock don’t do this to me.” John stuttered as he vehemently shook his head again.

Sherlock swallowed and spoke so softly that John could barely hear him, “John, do you know what it’s like to be at total peace? John, it’s…it’s calming for the mind is quiet; there is no speculation, no unworthiness, no degradation, no self-loathing, no…no loneliness, no longing for another’s touch.”

John bit his lower lip to keep it from trembling, “Sherlock…Sherlock, stop this right now, give me your hand and get your ass on the train, either we both go or we both stay, the choice is yours.”

A look of irritation played across Sherlock’s features as he said, “John, that’s not fair.”

John crossed his arms and tried to ignore the train whistle in the background, “All’s fair in love and war, Sherlock.”

Sherlock’s eyes seemed as if they were dissolving into pools of stagnant water as he looked at John, “So, John is this love or war?”

John felt dizzy and confused; however he answered without hesitation, “Both, Sherlock…both. Now take my hand, please…please.”

Sherlock looked at Redbeard and then knelt down, wrapping his arms around the dog’s neck, “I’ve got to go old boy, but it’s not forever for when it’s time you and I shall meet again.” Sherlock turned around to spare one backward glance at Redbeard and then took John’s hand. Hand in hand Sherlock and John ran, ran to the station, and as they jumped aboard the train, everything began to fade until all was black. The last sound Sherlock heard was Redbeard barking.

“Heavy, I feel heavy-burdened,” Sherlock thought as he struggled to acclimate himself.  Then like a bird of prey that suddenly comes to life after it spots a mouse running for cover, Sherlock’s eyes snapped open. John lay next to him, his head resting on Sherlock’s chest right above his heart and Mycroft lay on the other side of John fast asleep. Sherlock sighed for they were back at 221b Baker Street and even though he should have been happy to be home, Sherlock wasn’t for he was no longer a 1950’s carefree girl, he was no longer a Pirate King with Redbeard, he was a man, a flawed being. “It is it is a glorious thing to be a Pirate King,” Sherlock mumbled.

John rubbed his eyes and looked over at Sherlock, “What?”

A soft tap drew their attention to the door as Mrs. Hudson poked her head around the corner, “Boys, you must have made a night of it. Now, come on get up for even though I’m not your housekeeper, I’ve made some extra scones and pot of tea is on the stove.”

John blinked after she left and looked over at a sleepy Mycroft, “What do you think happened? I mean Mrs. Hudson doesn’t seem to know that we’ve been missing for months.”

Mycroft shrugged as he looked over at Sherlock, “Well, brother mine what is your theory?”

Sherlock was about to open his mouth to reply when John interrupted him, “I know it must be like Narnia, you know where the children go into the wardrobe, they grow up to be Kings and Queens in Narnia, and then they stumble back into the wardrobe becoming children in England once more.”

Sherlock sighed as he looked over at John, “John, Narnia is a fictional place, it’s not reeeal.”

John glared over at Sherlock, “I know that Narnia is a fictional place.”

Sherlock looked bored, “Well, no matter John I hardly think that your suppositions on the space time continuum are valid.”

John sat up, looked at Mycroft and then back at Sherlock, “Well, at least I know the bloody earth goes around the sun.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes heavenward, “Who cares about the boring sun.”

John swung his legs off the bed and began to pace, “Well, the sun may be boring, but is valid and whatever did you mean it is it is a glorious thing to be a Pirate King?”

Sherlock avoided John’s eyes as he sadly looked down at the ground, “I have no idea what you are talking about John.”

                        ***

Moriarty clenched and unclenched his fist as he paced around the dark place he called home. “Damn, Sherlock, damn John, I will get them yet. I will transmute them again and this time, I’ll do it right, I’ll make sure that they don’t know one another, and they will be on opposing sides. The Civil War in America, perhaps? No, no, the Titanic right before it sinks, no, no, no Wars, no Nazi’s, no…”,and then Moriarty smiled an evil smile. “I’ve got it, Russia, Imperial Russia before the Czar fell, Sherlock and Mycroft shall be Romanovs and John, dear sweet John will be a revolutionary, and I…I shall be the destructive force which takes them. I shall be the East Wind for I will be Rasputin.” 


	19. Deliver us from Evil

Sherlock, John and Mycroft had settled into their respective roles since their coming home and it was one such evening that they all sat in the living room of Sherlock and John’s flat sipping scotch contemplating the case before them and John felt a chill creep over him for things were going to get complicated, even more so than they already were. The relationship between he and Sherlock was a bit strained and no matter how much they tried things were just not the same since Sherlock had re-materialized after his supposed death. John worried every time Sherlock was out of his sight and Sherlock resented it. He would tell John to sod off, in which case John would storm out the door and come back hours later drunk. Sherlock would put him to bed and the next day things were back to normal.

It was after one such occasion that John had come home so inebriated that he couldn’t even make it back to his own room, he threw up in the hall, clutched his head to stop the pounding and Sherlock just stood there watching John vomit until John’s body shook with the force of dry retching. When the worst of it was over Sherlock helped John up, taking John’s vomit soaked hand in his own and Sherlock wondered why he wasn’t repulsed enough to let go, his fingers entwined with John’s the moist mucus and the remnants of John’s lunch swirled around in Sherlock’s palm, yet Sherlock still did not let go. With a bit of effort Sherlock led John to his own bed, for it was closer, and then helped John in. John looked up at Sherlock in misery, his face pale, the skin under his eyes puffed out, the front of his shirt was soaked, and the smell emanating from his clothing was atrocious and for the second time that night Sherlock wondered why John’s appearance did not repulse him.

Sherlock’s machine-like mind noticed that John had missed a button at the top revealing his white undershirt and equally white flesh, the little chucks of vomit that dotted John’s clothing indicated that he had eaten Macaroni and Cheese for lunch and not much else. After staring for what seemed like hours, Sherlock blinked, moved into action, took John’s shoes off, and tucked him in under the covers. However, when he turned to leave John started to giggle.

“Hey, Sherlock am I pretty?” John said as he snatched playfully at Sherlock’s clothing until Sherlock was close enough to smell his alcohol, vomit soaked breath.

Feeling confused and angry Sherlock tore himself from John’s grasp and wondered why hours later he was still thinking of John curled up sound asleep in his bed. Sherlock drew a long drag on the cigarette he was smoking and began to mentally go through the periodic table of elements, reciting their names, chemical compositions, and their atomic weights respectfully. Over and over he recited them, until his last cigarette was smoked and the chill of the pre-dawn hours filled the room making Sherlock shiver under the covers.

The next morning John woke up and after a shower felt ready to face the day and Sherlock, for he was sure to be irritated. Putting on a pair of sunglasses to protect his sensitive eyes from the light, John searched through the flat until he found Sherlock sitting in the kitchen. There he sat not a hair out of place and when he looked up he barely acknowledged John’s sheepish apology.

“We have a case, that is if you’re sober enough to assist me,” Sherlock said sullenly.

John put his hands on his hips, “Really, are you doing this, judging me? Because if so you’ve got a lot of bloody nerve, after the crap you’ve put me through.”

Sherlock sighed looking bored, “How many times do I have to apologize? Are you going to drag me through the mud about the whole ‘I’m dead, not dead thing’?”

John was about to reply and then stopped for even though Sherlock’s tone of voice was imperious there was a hint of vulnerability in it that John didn’t want to tread on. “Sherlock, I’m sorry let’s just put it behind us, so what’s the case about?”

“A Faberge egg, a missing Faberge egg, here John look at the picture,” Sherlock said as he handed his phone to John.

John angled the phone so that he could see the picture clearly, the egg was a cobalt blue, with the Romanoff royal crest on the outside, on the inside was a miniature heart with a picture in the middle surrounded by diamonds, John looked at the picture blankly and then back at Sherlock.  “Sherlock, what is this some sort of joke?” John asked for the picture inside the heart was of himself as a teenager.

Sherlock looked troubled, “It’s not a joke. I’ve called Mycroft, there is something amiss, something dangerous,  something evil and it stalks us, it hunts us John, its cavernous mouth ready to feast on our bones. But never fear I will protect you for it must be some nefarious scheme of Moriarty’s. ”

“Sherlock, you’re not omniscient you know, we will protect each other,” John said softly as he laid a reassuring hand on Sherlock’s shoulder.

The weight of John’s palm seemed to burn through Sherlock’s shirt and it was with relief that he heard Mrs. Hudson opening the door to admit Mycroft.


	20. Moscow

“So, what do you think this is all about brother dear?” Mycroft asked in his deep silken voice.

John frowned for even though he would never admit it to Sherlock, every time Sherlock spoke the richness of his voice made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. Mycroft kept speaking and John rubbed the back of his own neck to make sure he could still had feel it, he could, he did and yet the beautiful Shakespearian tones of Mycroft’s voice had no effect on John what so ever. “Hmm strange,” John thought and then Sherlock spoke and all it took was one word swirling around in his aural cavity like a time lapsed video of a flower blooming; John felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

“John, are you listening?” Sherlock asked imperiously.

John looked confused for a moment and then said, “No, I mean yes, oh just get on with it.”

Sherlock nodded, gave John a strange look out of the corner of his eye and continued on, “We must attempt to deduce where Moriarty is and what he is trying to accomplish.  I don’t relish being a girl again,” Sherlock said slowly for he still disturbed by John’s lack of concentration.

John leaned his head to one side as the room tilted at an odd angle, “What is wrong with me?” He thought fearfully and then everything went dark and the last thing John heard before he disappeared was Sherlock screaming his name. “JOHN!”

John shivered under his thin blanket, his brother slept soundly in the bed next to him and John marveled at his ability to sleep under such conditions for the frigid air was like sharp points of ice cutting through the blanket and into John’s skin. “I have lived in Moscow all my life, so why is the cold bothering me now?” John thought in confusion. “It must be the dreams again. Dreams which consisted of a place less cold, a place where science capabilities only dreamed about in Russian Universities were common occurrences, and a place where someone, a person whose face he never saw, waited for him.” John squeezed his eyes shut to block out the tilt o whirl of images for he had to banish them, or he would go mad. The first time he had told his mother about the dreams she had taken him to a priest to ask if he needed exorcising. After serval frightening encounters with the priest dousing him with holy water and shouting while he held a crucifix in John’s face, John had decided to keep his dreams to himself. Maybe he was nervous about attending University, for John was the first in his family to attend secondary school. John suspected that part of his acceptance was due to the fact that University numbers were down due to the War and the only reason John hadn’t been drafted was due to the fact that he was lame in one leg from an accident he had as a child. An accident he still couldn’t remember. “I was eight,” John thought, “So, why can’t I remember it?”

John’s family lived in Moscow and even though his father earned only a modest living repairing horse drawn carts they were still better off than some, for John had heard tales of peasants being so hungry that they peeled paint off the walls of their homes just to find something to eat. As daylight began to spread to the furthest reaches of the room, John’s brother began to stir. “Time to face another day,” John thought. “Another day without…without…” John never finished the thought for everyday it was there-the feeling that someone he knew was far away. 


	21. Anastasia

Sherlock screamed out John’s name, as he futilely clutched at his disappearing form and then just like that, John was gone. For a moment Sherlock and Mycroft sat looking at each in stunned silence and then Sherlock felt a prickling along the back of his neck, his vision blacked out and the last thing he heard was Mycroft shouting his name.

**Moscow during the reign of the last Tsar Nicholas**

Sherlock was bored and he hated it when his family chose to stay at the Grand Palace in Moscow, for the days were full of endless ceremonies, all of which bored Sherlock, who was convinced that his relation to the Romanoff family was more of a nuisance than an honor. The palace had a somber atmosphere that made Sherlock on edge for the Tsar’s son Alexei was sick again and that meant that the monk Rasputin would be attending to his needs. Sherlock hated Rasputin for sometimes he would stop and stare at Sherlock, his bright eyes fixated upon Sherlock as if he were a prey animal waiting to be torn apart by a predator.

One day after his violin lesson with Leopold Auer, Sherlock escaped his keeper, as Sherlock was fond of calling his valet and went in search of the Princess Anastasia for Sherlock had a plan.

Anastasia, looked at Sherlock in horror as she exclaimed, “Sherlock, we can’t just leave and explore the city, what are you thinking?”

Sherlock slid across the marble floor directly in front of Anastasia and whispered in her ear, “Anastasia, please I want to visit the gypsy camp, for I need to know the cause of the nightmares that plague me.” Sherlock said in a mirthful voice, tinged with a streak of fear. “Anastasia, please I must know,” Sherlock begged softly.

Anastasia sighed, “Sherlock, why don’t we ask Rasputin to hypnotize you?”

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed in distaste, “I hate him.”

Anastasia’s eyes widened in shock, “Why, he is such a funny man? Mother adores him and he has helped Alexei.”

Sherlock wanted to say that Anastasia’s mother the Tsarina was foolish to trust the monk, but instead he just said softly, “Anastasia, he is evil, very, very evil.”

Anastasia laughed and said, “Sherlock, you are teasing, now come on let’s disguise ourselves and go and see the gypsies.”

Anastasia, laughed when she saw a reflection of herself in a mirror, “I look so funny,” she whispered as she pulled a ragged shawl around her thin shoulders.

Sherlock pulled at her arm, “Come on let’s go before they notice we’re missing.”

Sherlock had been on solo outings before, but Anastasia had never been without an attendant by her side, so everything was a marvel to her. The horse drawn sleighs and carts, workers, beggars, shopkeepers, all were a part of Imperial Mother Russia that would soon be changed forever. When they reached the gypsy camp on the outskirts of the city, Sherlock and Anastasia were shocked at the poverty that surrounded them. The aged bent over in pain, followed by the younger generation’s pale angry faces, only the very, very young remained unaffected as they ran through the camp shrieking with delight as they chased each other. An emaciated dog ran with them and as it passed by Sherlock, it stopped in front of him sat down and whined a little. Sherlock had never been allowed to have a pet, so he just stared at the dog and was just about to reach his hand out to pet it when a woman’s voice snapped at them.

“Hey, what do you two want?” The woman asked harshly.

Sherlock stepped forward, “We want our fortune told.”

The woman’s demeanor changed instantly when Sherlock held some coins out in his hand. “Fine, fine come this way,” she said cheerfully.

“She sure pulls out all the stops,” Sherlock thought as the woman led them to a tent, had them sit down, as she began to moan and chant beckoning the spirt world to join them.

Sherlock was the first to hold out his hand. The fortune teller mumbled under her breath and then her face changed entirely and she dropped Sherlock’s hand as if it were a poisonous viper. “You are out of time, therefore you must be a demon, get out.”

Anastasia jumped up, “How dare you talk to him like that and what about my fortune?”

The woman kept a wary eye on Sherlock as she grasped Anastasia’s hand; she then shuffled some cards and gasped. “Get out both of you.”

Sherlock and Anastasia ran from the tent and once they were safely out of range they stopped to catch their breath. “Sherlock, did you see my card?”

Sherlock’s shook his head, “No,” he lied for the card had been the skeleton of death and Sherlock felt as if his throat were closing over for it seemed as if its bony fingers were reaching out to crush them.

 


	22. The Angel of My Dreams

As they made their way into the city the foot traffic became denser, until finally people pressed up against Sherlock and Anastasia, and it was hard to breathe as the smell of unwashed humans and animals wafted into Sherlock’s nostrils. Anastasia held a handkerchief up to her nose to blot out the offensive odors, gagging as a particular smell threatened to overwhelm her. Sherlock glanced over at her worried that she was going to faint and took small comfort in the fact that once they reached the middle of the city the crowds should thin out. However, he was mistaken for if anything they increased as they attempted to make their way through a throng of student demonstrators, shouting things like, “No more war and down with the Tsar.”

Anastasia clung to Sherlock in fear, as the sound of shattering glass filled their ears when the demonstrators threw rocks in the window of a bakery nearby. Desperately, Sherlock looked for a safe place to hide but to no avail and things were about to get worse as troops surrounded them. Sherlock thought that order would be restored and was horrified when the troops began firing shots into the crowd, heedless of the women and children. Sherlock picked up Anastasia to keep her from being trampled by the fleeing demonstrators and gasped in horror when the panicked crowds ran over the dead and dying. One victim was not much older than Sherlock; he lay on his back, his once light blue eyes dark, his mouth open, a bullet hole through his forehead marring the shape of his skull.

Then suddenly a cart pulled up beside them and a young man his own age shouted at Sherlock, as he held out his arms for Anastasia, “Give her to me and get in,” the young man called out frantically.

Sherlock nodded, handed Anastasia over, and then took the outstretched hand of their rescuer. As Sherlock’s smooth hands touched the young man’s hard calloused ones he inwardly gasped as a thrill of electricity shot through him. The sensation must have been mutual for the man stared at Sherlock for a long time before he spoke, “My name is John,” he yelled above the din of the crowd, beating away any would be passengers with the flick of a switch.  

John shouted for Sherlock and Anastasia to get into the bottom of the cart, after a few moments the noise of the crowd faded away until the only thing Sherlock heard was the clop of the horse’s hooves on the cobble stone street. Once they were safe John called out for them, “It’s okay, you’re safe now.”

Sherlock looked up at John and whispered, “Thank you, we own you a debt of gratitude.”

John was about to reply but gasped as Anastasia rose up from the bottom of the cart, for her scarf had come loose and her face was fully visible. “Grand Duchess Anastasia,” John said and was about to bow, when Anastasia stopped him.

“There is no need for that John for I am only human as you yourself are and we all serve one master do we not?” Anastasia said graciously.   

John did a little half bow and said, “As you wish Grand Duchess.”

Anastasia smiled brightly, “Just Anastasia will do and the silent one next to me is Sherlock Holmes Mikhailovich.”

Sherlock nodded and then spoke in a hoarse stammering tone, “Sherlock, is fine for me too. I mean you can call me Sherlock as well.”

John nodded still in awe of his passengers, a sound in the street near them made John look fearfully around. “You two get down; it is not safe for you. Stay hidden until I tell you it is okay to come out.”

Sherlock and Anastasia stayed hidden, as John made his way to the palace through the back allies. As they reached the servant’s entrance John called out, “It’s okay you can come out now.”

Sherlock and Anastasia slowly came out from beneath the tarp that had been thrown over them. John then jumped down from the cart and assisted Anastasia’s descent. He then held out a hand to Sherlock, Sherlock took his hand and was so overcome by John’s touch that he blurted out , “Thank you,” and then nervously he bowed over John’s hand and kissed it.

Anastasia squealed with laughter the danger from earlier in the day forgotten as she said, “Sherlock, you are so silly.”

Sherlock flushed red and then looked up at John’s equally flushed face and said, “Will, I see you again, John?”

John smiled sadly down at Sherlock and said, “It is doubtful Prince Mikhailovich… I mean, Sherlock.”

John then jumped up into the cart, but not before Sherlock ran after him, “Wait, “ he called.  John stopped the cart as Sherlock ran up to him and handed him a ring off his finger. “Here take this as a token of gratitude.”

John shook his head, “I couldn’t possibly.”

Sherlock stamped his foot, “I will be offended if you do not.”

John reluctantly reached out and took the small signet ring, “I will accept it but not as a token of gratitude but as proof that the angel of my dreams is real.”

Then without another sound he urged the cart forward leaving Sherlock to ponder the meaning of  his words.


	23. Unknown Thresholds

Sherlock lay on his stomach, his legs burning from the whipping he had received from his father. He had cried a little for Sherlock felt that he was too old to be whipped and then to be sent to bed without supper had made him feel like a small child, but as difficult as the afternoon had been it was all worth it, for he had met John. “I wonder if I will see him again,” Sherlock thought as he restlessly tossed and turned in his bed. When he finally fell asleep, Sherlock dreamed, he dreamed of John, an older John, but still John. He dreamed of him and John running through a fantastic world of flying machines and automobiles that went faster than anything Sherlock could imagine and then finally he dreamed of Rasputin, he looked different but the evil expression in his eyes was the same.

Sherlock held Rasputin and dangled him over a rooftop and Rasputin laughed, and said, “Sherlock, John, everyone that is important to you will be gone. Sherlock I will burn the heart out of you.”

“No,” Sherlock screamed as he sat up in bed, terrified at how real the dream seemed. The blood pounding through his ears almost deafened him. However, it didn’t prevent him from hearing a slight scratching at his door. Sherlock jumped out of bed, grabbed his ceremonial sword and threw open the door. He looked both ways and saw a fleeing figure at the end of the corridor. It was too dark for Sherlock to see who it was, but he knew that Rasputin had been there for the lingering smell of the monk’s unwashed robes still hung in the air.

Days passed and Sherlock gave up hope of ever seeing John again and then one day as Sherlock was loitering around the servant’s entrance he saw a familiar figure unloading supplies in the courtyard.

“John,” Sherlock shouted as he ran towards him, ignoring the stares of the servants.

John turned and try as he might he could not suppress the joy he felt as Sherlock ran towards him. Slowly, John descended from the cart as Sherlock skidded to a halt in front of him.

“Greetings,” Sherlock said as John bowed over his hand. “No, no, it’s okay, you don’t have to bow,” Sherlock whispered and then he stared into John’s blue eyes for so long that he began to lose his equilibrium.

John reached out his hand to steady Sherlock, ignoring the electric pulse that shot through his body as soon as he touched Sherlock’s hand.

Sherlock leaned heavily into John, “John, I feel faint, could you please see me to the stables?”

John frowned and once they were out of earshot, Sherlock smiled and said, “It’s good to see you, John, let’s go for a picnic.”

John laughed, but quickly stopped when he saw the hurt expression that flashed across Sherlock’s face. “Sherlock, I have to work and when I’m not working I am in school. I don’t have the leisure time a Prince has.” John said gently, not bothering to disentangle his arm from Sherlock’s.

Sherlock looked crestfallen for he wasn’t used to being refused.  “I know I have an idea I need a new groom to accompany me when I ride. It would be a much easier job than you have now and I am sure you will have more time to study.” Sherlock’s words tumbled out of his mouth like a desperate market vendor, his royal training banished as he awaited John’s answer.

And so that was how John came to work at the palace, looking forward to the times when he and Sherlock rode outside the city in the fields of Mother Russia.

It was a fine spring day and Sherlock felt wild and free as he took off his jacket and doffed it at John’s head. “John, catch me,” Sherlock shouted as he ran through the tall grass.

John laughed and ran after Sherlock and even though Sherlock’s legs were longer, John was faster and he soon had Sherlock pinned down, tickling him as Sherlock begged John to stop. After a few moments, Sherlock stopped struggling and relaxed under John’s body, allowing John’s hips to mold to his and then Sherlock waited, he wasn’t sure what he was waiting for as his full lips parted but wait he did.  John stopped laughing and then frowned as he grasped Sherlock’s arms; he slowly moved his face closer to Sherlock’s and then jumped up as if he had been set a flame.

Sherlock looked bewildered as he sat up, “John, what did I do?”

John paced a few feet away and then finally answered, “Nothing, Sherlock, nothing…”

Sherlock anxious to be back in John’s good graces blurted out the first question that popped into his head, “John have you ever been with a woman?”

John’s face flushed as he looked down at the ground and answered, “Yes.”

Sherlock nodded, “What was it like?”

John shrugged, “Well, it was hardly the ideal place. We were in her father’s barn and it was quick, surely nothing to write a poem about.”

Sherlock nodded his bright eyes fixated upon John’s face, “I’ve never been with a woman, umm, did it hurt?” Sherlock asked shyly.

John smiled and shook his head, “No, it didn’t hurt her either, for she wasn’t a virgin.”

Sherlock looked thoroughly confused and said, “My education is sorely lacking in these matters, they don’t tell us anything. However, I did see a naked woman once.  I watched our cook get undressed through the keyhole and I saw everything. It didn’t arouse me at all, in fact if anything I was repulsed.”

John had nervously started to smoke a cigarette, unsure of how to answer Sherlock.

Sherlock got up and asked John for a cigarette and then looked at John, “John I’m curious will you let me see it yours I mean.”

John looked down in the direction that Sherlock was looking and laughed nervously, “No, why?”

Sherlock pouted, “I’m just curious. I’ve seen my own and that’s it.”

John sighed, “Fine, but you need to let me look at you too.”

Sherlock shrugged, “Fine, you first.”

John rolled his eyes finished his cigarette and said, “Fine,” and then unbuckled his pants. Sherlock padded over and looked so long at John, that he began to get embarrassed. “Okay, enough looking your highness, let’s see yours.”

Sherlock slipped his pants off and let John’s eyes take in everything, “I think I’m bigger,” Sherlock said smugly.

John sighed as he grabbed his pants to pull them up, “Of course you’re bigger, you’re a larger person.”

Sherlock nodded and wondered why he felt disappointed, “John, I know you’re studying to be a Doctor, so this may sound like a stupid question, but does it hurt when a man gets bigger?”

John looked at Sherlock incredulously, “They don’t teach you anything, do they? It can be uncomfortable but it doesn’t hurt.”

Sherlock nodded and then pulled up his own pants. He then walked over to John and kissed him platonically on the cheek. “Thank you, John, for answering my stupid questions.”

John nodded trying not to imagine what it would be like to kiss Sherlock’s full lips. The ride back was quiet and Sherlock wasn’t sure exactly what happened for he felt as if he and John had crossed some kind of unknown threshold.

Desperate for things to be the same Sherlock urged his horse forward, “I’ll race you back to the stables.” He shouted.

John’s horse thundered behind him and by the time they and their horses reached the stable John was laughing again, but as he helped Sherlock down from his mount, Sherlock couldn’t help but notice that John’s hands shook ever so slightly.

 

 


	24. The Dancing Bear

Sherlock’s eighteenth birthday came in went in a flurry of ceremony that Sherlock found frightening and boring all at the same time, for he would soon loose what little freedom he had, first as a soldier in the Tsar’s Imperial Army and the second after his engagement was announced to one of the Tsar’s daughters. “It didn’t matter which one, just as long as her blood was blue,” Sherlock thought bitterly as he and John ran alongside the Volga River.

John stopped to catch his breath and looked back at Sherlock’s pale face with a frown, “Sherlock, what is it? You’ve been quiet ever since your birthday ceremony.”

Sherlock smiled, not wanting to spoil their afternoon, “I’m fine just tired,” Sherlock said as he took in John’s face and the way the sun glinted off of his golden hair. “He looks like an angel,” Sherlock thought and it took everything within him not to reach out his hand to touch a strand of John’s blonde hair as it blew around his face.  “I wonder if it is as soft as if looks,” Sherlock thought with a strange type of longing.

“Come on,” John said as they ran along the river to a secluded place where they could swim.

John was the first to strip off his clothes as he jumped shrieking into the water. Sherlock then threw off of his clothes with abandon and was soon splashing and swimming with John, by his side, each of his strokes through the water magically synchronized with John’s. “We are like dolphins,” Sherlock thought as he and John dove in and out of the water. “We are free and happy.” Then all too soon John was swimming towards the bank of the river and as he emerged from the river, Sherlock tread water watching John get dressed, rubbing his stomach as he did so, for he always got a tummy ache when he saw John without a shirt. Etc.

As Sherlock swam over, John was there to help him out and said mockingly, “Here, is your clothing your highness.”

Sherlock grinned as he shook the moisture from his curls, spraying John with rivulets of water.

“Hey, “John laughed as he swatted Sherlock on the butt with one of his socks.

Sherlock was laughing uncontrollably by this time and after a moment or two he and John sighed, got their breath back and lay down on the grass next to each other.

In silence they stared up at the sky, each lost in their own thoughts. “Sherlock, what is bothering you?” John asked quietly.

Sherlock didn’t meet John’s eyes and was relieved when he heard the music of a street performer. “Listen, I bet that’s the man that has the dancing bear.” Sherlock said excitedly.

John jumped up and looked around to see if he could pinpoint where the source of the music was located. “Come on, Sherlock, let’s go see. It could be the man with the dancing bear or gypsies.”

Sherlock held back, “I don’t like gypsies, for they said that Anastasia was going to die and that I am a demon with cursed dreams. As far as the man with the bear goes, I love the music but I hate how that poor creature is made to perform. He was once a great bear and now he is reduced to the role of a puppet. I begged my father to buy the bear and let him go, but my father said that even if we did buy the bear and release it that the bear would die for it could no longer care for itself and would starve.”

John nodded frowning as he did so, feeling that there was more to the conversation than gypsies and bears, anxious to re-capture the carefree atmosphere of the day John licked his lips and then started to dance to the music. Sherlock laughed and clapped his hands, “John that is wonderful, do you think you could teach me, for you know how I love to dance.”

John nodded and motioned for Sherlock to join him. After a few awkward attempts Sherlock soon had the steps down and was able to allow his body to get lost in the physical movements of the dance. “John’s hands in mine, John’s arms around my waist, John holding me touching my skin,” Sherlock thought as he dizzyingly fell to ground in a heap.

John was by his side in an instant, “Sherlock, are you okay?”

Sherlock looked into John’s dark blue eyes, his thin lips moving, however Sherlock could no longer hear the words, for he was caught up in a terrifying moment such as he could never remember in his young life, without speaking Sherlock pulled John into his arms and kissed him passionately on the lips, hesitant at first Sherlock kept his lips only slightly parted, until John’s tongue forced them open further and then Sherlock responded forcefully like a man and not a boy, desperately grabbing at John’s shirt.

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph, what am I doing?” John said as he pushed Sherlock away.

Sherlock sat back and looked up at John with a stricken expression, his full lips red and moist, his eyes shinny with desire, and then they both looked down at the tightness in the front of Sherlock’s trousers, as Sherlock tried unsuccessfully to hide the bulge from John. Not knowing what to do Sherlock burst into tears, got up and ran and even though he could hear John calling after him Sherlock ran, thinking that as soon as he got home he would have his father buy the dancing bear and release it into the forest, for Sherlock was certain that the poor creature would rather be dead than to take place in actions contrary to its passionate nature.

“Sherlock, come back the bank is rocky, you are going to fall in,” John shouted frantically after Sherlock.

Sherlock ignored him and wasn’t surprised when he fell, a sharp rock slicing his ankle open, if Sherlock tried he could have righted himself, but he didn’t and as the dark waters of the Volga closed over his head, Sherlock breathed deeply, the last conscious thought he had was of the poor dancing bear.

 

 


	25. Are We Happy?

Without thinking John dove into the freezing waters of the river and when the frigid temperatures assaulted his body, John almost passed out. Only the determination to save Sherlock kept him from giving up, frantically John searched the murky waters and then the Holy Mother must have guided his direction for there in front of him was Sherlock’s limp body. Hastily, John grasped Sherlock’s billowing shirt and drug him to the surface. Gasping when his head rose about the water, John greedily gulped in air as he made his way to the shore. A small group of people had gathered on the bank of the river and they held out their hands to help John and his burden-Sherlock to the ground. John was shaking with cold and he knew he would go into hypothermia soon; however he was determined to check on Sherlock before he received attention from anyone.

Waving away a woman that tried to put her shawl around him John made his way to where Sherlock lay. Sherlock lay there, so cold, so still, no breathing motions from his chest, his beautiful eyes were closed, his kissable lips blue, and his body was opaque like a marble statue. The woman with the shawl crossed herself for all intents and purposes Sherlock was dead, but John ignored her as knowledge from another lifetime came to him. Tilting Sherlock’s head back, John breathed life into his mouth, his warm lips on Sherlock’s ice cold ones, until Sherlock’s eyes fluttered and he threw up dirty water all over himself and John.

Long afterwards people would tell the tale of how John and performed a miracle and raised Sherlock from the dead, but John was heedless to their attention as he rushed Sherlock back to the palace. When John reached the courtyard of the palace with his precious burden, he wouldn’t let anyone touch his beloved Sherlock shouting, “Get back I’m a medical student, he’s my friend let me through.” When they reached Sherlock’s bedroom, John barked out orders to the servants, “Stoke this fire as hot as you can, bring me two more blankets and some bandages.” Carefully, John laid Sherlock on the bed for he had lost consciousness again.

John stripped off Sherlock’s clothing, threw them into a pile near the fire and then swallowed as he glanced down at Sherlock’s naked body. “He is perfect,” John thought as he hastily covered Sherlock up. In the meantime, the servant had arrived with bandages and John tenderly wrapped up Sherlock’s ankle, then took off his own clothes and slipped into bed, gathering Sherlock into his arms. John told himself that he was only trying to keep them both from going into hyper thermic shock, but when he pulled Sherlock close to him, John shuddered not from the cold but from an intense cramping desire that made him grateful that he was so cold.

A few hours later John slid out from underneath the covers, felt his clothes to see if they were dry and then slipped them on. As he was dressing Sherlock’s soft voice called to him, “John, do you have to go? Can’t you stay please?”

John sighed and turned towards Sherlock, “Sherlock, I have to go I’ve been called up.”

Sherlock looked confused for a moment and then his eyes widened, “Called up? Do you mean drafted?”

John nodded, “Yes, they need medical personnel at the front to clean up the mess.”

Sherlock wrapped a sheet around him and sat down on the edge of the bed, “This is intolerable, you are not a full-fledged Doctor yet and I need you.”

John stared at Sherlock as an intense moment of déjà vu overcame him, for in his mind’s eye he saw an older version of Sherlock laughing wrapped up in a sheet the image was so strong that it couldn’t be just a dream, could it?

“John, what is it? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.” Sherlock said in concern.

John looked intently at Sherlock, “I just had an image of you in you know the other world.”

Sherlock scooted forward and asked, “So, we know each other in this dream world of yours?”

John nodded, “Yes, we’re friends.”

Sherlock looked sad for a moment and then asked tentatively, “Just friends, nothing more?”

John nodded firmly, “Yes, just friends.”

Sherlock sighed and looked down at the ground, not wanting John to see the tears in his eyes, “John, are we happy?”

John straightened his collar and looked at Sherlock’s reflection in the mirror. He paused for a moment and then answered flatly, “No.”


	26. My Love of a Lifetime-Sherlock

2 Months Later

John gritted his teeth in pain as he limped out of the Army Hospital with just one thing on his mind-Sherlock. He didn’t think of the shrapnel lodged in his hip, he didn’t think that he would no longer be an active medic at the front because of his injuries, he didn’t think of the syringe of morphine that he used on a daily basis to cut the pain for as he made his way through the city and to the palace John had a one track mind he had to get to Sherlock, for Sherlock was home. The city streets were full of protestors with signs that said, “Down with the Tsar,” the more sinister of the signs read, “Death to the Tsar and his German Tsarina.”

By the time John reached the servants entrance of the palace he was exhausted and his hands shook with the need for Morphine. He ignored the signs of his body’s immortally and made his way to the back door.

One of the washer women saw John approaching and jumped back. “It’s okay Nadia, it’s me John, John Watson.” John said reassuringly.

The woman gasped for John looked like a pale tired specter; his cheeks were sunk in, his face white, his blonde hair dull and lifeless. “John, you gave me quite a fright. Oh here come in the kitchen and sit down, you must be exhausted.”

John waved her away impatiently, “I need to see Sherlock, is he here?”

The woman avoided John’s gaze and said evasively, “He is here, John, but he can’t receive any visitors per his Doctor and Rasputin.”

John frowned, “Rasputin, what the hell he is doing with Sherlock?”

Nadia nervously wrung her hands and stammered, “I do not know and I cannot take you to him or I will be severely punished.”  

John grabbed a hold of Nadia and shook her, “Nadia, you take me to him now or I will hurt you. Do you understand?” John hissed.

Nadia nodded terrified by the anger that distorted John’s features, for she had no doubt that he would hurt her unless she acquiesced to his request.

As they quietly crept through the palace halls, John thought that the rooms were unnaturally still. After a few moments John and Nadia stood outside Sherlock’s room. John tapped on the door and when he got no answer he tried the door but it was locked. “What is his door locked for?” John demanded.

Nadia looked like she would run away any moment as she backed away from John. Quickly so as not to anger him further, Nadia pulled a key out of her pocket, opened Sherlock’s door and then ran down the hall without a backwards glance. John stared after her fleeing figure for a second or two and then opened Sherlock’s door. The first thing to assail him as he walked through the door was a putrid smell. John gagged for he knew that smell, it was the smell of a rotting flesh wound. Unbidden rows of wounded soldiers dying on stretchers flashed through John’s mind as he sank to the ground. After composing himself John walked over to Sherlock’s bed feasting his eyes on the person he had longed to hold in every life time he had experienced.

Sherlock lay curled up in bed with his back towards John, he was shirtless and John stared in fascination at the curves and lines of Sherlock’s sleek form. His bumpy spine protruded out like dinosaur bones and John noted with alarm how his white skin seemed to be like taunt canvas and not the supple skin of a human. Someone had cleaned the room recently, however John could tell from the little round circles on Sherlock’s back that he had been bled recently.

“Sherlock?” John said as he laid a gentle hand on Sherlock’s shoulder.

Sherlock turned over and his eyes grew large when he saw John, “My God, how the devil taunts me. I must say a penance.”

John listened to Sherlock’s mutterings for a moment and then cut in, “Sherlock, it’s me John. I’m really here.”

“John, John it can’t be true can it?” Sherlock asked as John gathered him in his arms.

“Sherlock, it’s me I’ve come to rescue you.” John said soothingly as he rocked Sherlock like an infant.

Sherlock relaxed for a moment or two and then tightened, “John, I’m sick. Rasputin says that my homosexual tendencies are from the devil and that I must repent on my knees and I must fast to rid myself of my unnatural desire for you. I know you must find it repulsive. Poor John, I am so sorry.”

John pulled Sherlock’s covers down and gasped when he saw the wound on Sherlock’s ankle, for it was a festering mess.

“Jesus, Sherlock what have they done to you? I have to get you to safety.” John said and without another word John bundled Sherlock up in some blankets and carefully made his way down to the stables where he and Sherlock had hid out a change of clothes for Sherlock, so that he would not have to parade around in royal finery on their jaunts. For a moment, John reminisced on those happy memories thinking that they seemed so far away.

After John changed Sherlock’s clothes he noted in despair how they clung loosely to his frame. “Now, how are we going to get out of the city?” John thought for they couldn’t take what little horses that remained for they would be spotted immediately. Desperately, John looked around him until he saw a small push cart. “It was not the ideal solution; however it would just have to do,” John thought as he piled Sherlock in the cart.

John, you must leave me here, for I’m sick, devil ridded, possessed.” Sherlock mumbled as he looked into John’s deep blue eyes.

John sighed and knelt down on eye level with Sherlock. Resting his forehead against Sherlock’s John put his hand on the back of Sherlock’s neck, drew him forward and kissed him deeply. John’s breath came out in ragged gasps as he forced his tongue deeper into Sherlock’s mouth, only disengaging when neither of them could breathe.

Sherlock looked frightened as he looked over at John. “John, I have passed the demon sickness on to you.”

John snorted, “Sherlock, there is no such thing for I want you as much as you want me. I long for you in every lifetime I have ever passed through, so I guess that means we are both sick and no matter what might come our way I will stand with you, by you and follow you into the depths of hell if I must. Sherlock I love you.”

 

  



	27. Your Problems are my Privilege

Sherlock looked at John, his eyes wide as he leaned forward, “John, you love me?”

John took out a cigarette and his hand shook as he tried to light it, “Yes, damn it. I said so didn’t I?”

Sherlock looked down at his own pale hands, “I’m sorry, John it’s just that…”

John’s gaze softened, “Sherlock, we’ll talk about this later. Let’s get you so safety first.”

No one paid attention to the wounded soldier that pushed a small cart with a sick, unconscious peasant inside, no one accept a monk that crept around the fringes of the city, discreetly following the two into the countryside. By the time John and Sherlock reached a small farmhouse, John was in a better frame of mind, for he had shot up a couple of doses of morphine and now he was feeling pain free and relaxed. As he wheeled the cart to the back of the farmhouse, Sherlock’s body bounced around and John was relieved that he had not regained consciousness.

The farmhouse had belonged to his grandparents, but had been deserted since they died two years ago. As John lifted Sherlock out of the cart and into the house, his eyes teared for he could swear that the scent of his grandmother’s cooking still hung in the air. After settling Sherlock in  his own childhood twin bed, John gave him a small dose of morphine, cleaned out the wound on his ankle and then sat in the rocking chair nearest the wall, smoked another cigarette rocking as the legs of the chair creaked with his vigorous back and forth motions. Eventually, he fell asleep and dreamed that Sherlock was sitting in a chair with his legs pulled underneath him smoking a cigarette.

John awoke with a start and for a moment he was confused about where he was, it was dark outside and instead of seeing a chair with a Union Jack Flag Pillow on it, he saw young Sherlock tossing and turning in his own bed. John walked over to the nightstand, lit a lamp and sat down on the bed next to Sherlock, “Sherlock, how are you feeling?” John asked as he smoothed Sherlock’s damp curls from his forehead.

Sherlock smiled as he reached for John’s hand, “Yes, much better.”

John held Sherlock’s hand not saying a word when Sherlock kissed the inside of his palm; John took a deep breath and gently pulled away from Sherlock’s grasp. “Sherlock, I’ve got to pump some water from outside and bring it inside. Are you hungry?”

Sherlock’s hopeful eyes latched onto John like a puppy, “No, not really hurry back.”

John smiled and then went outside; grateful for the cold air that greeted him as he pumped water into a bucket, then he dragged the water inside, lit a fire in the fireplace and rummaged around in the kitchen cupboards until he found some grains to make soup. He warmed a small basin of water over the fire and went into where Sherlock was resting. “Sherlock, let me take a look at that ankle,” John said as he placed the water basin on the night table.

Sherlock threw the covers back and then said, “Oh God I reek. You can’t see me this way,” Sherlock said as he covered himself back up.

John pulled the covers back and smiled, “Sherlock, I’m a Doctor or almost a Doctor, remember? So, it’s okay.” John said and then inspected Sherlock’s ankle.

“God, John I feel so sick,” Sherlock said as he groaned, leaned over and vomited on the floor.

Without a word, John was by his side, gently removing Sherlock’s shirt, bathing off his chest, pausing to let the warm cloth linger over the leach marks, cuts and bruises. John then removed Sherlock’s pants, bathed his legs his hands avoiding the top button of Sherlock’s underwear.

“It’s alright,” Sherlock said as he pinned down John’s hand on his waist band.

John shook his head, “Sherlock, there’s soup on the hearth. I need to tend to it.” John said then handed Sherlock the cloth. “Finish washing. I’ll be back in a moment.”

Sherlock held the cooling cloth in his hand and then looked up at John. “John, do you find me repulsive?” Sherlock asked tentatively.

John sighed, “Sherlock I’ve told you that I find you desirable in every lifetime. Your face haunts my dreams. Sometimes my body hurts so bad with need for you that my stomach muscles cramp up. If in one of my other lifetimes I deign to sleep with another by my side; it’s you I long for. It’s you it’s always been you.”

“John, I don’t want to die a virgin. Will you make love to me?” Sherlock asked as he tried to sit up.

John smiled. “Sherlock, you aren’t going to die, for your problems are my privilege and I’m here to protect you.” John said firmly and then left the room to check on the soup.


	28. Tea,Fire and Ice

“Sherlock,” John whispered as he lightly shook Sherlock’s sleeping form.

“What?” Sherlock asked sleepily.

“I’ve got to go into town for some supplies. I’ll be back shortly.” John said as he fondly looked down at Sherlock as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.

“Here, let me get dressed and go with you,” Sherlock mumbled as he grabbed for a shirt.

“No, it’s too dangerous for us to be seen together. Stay here and don’t leave or answer the door under any circumstance. Do you understand?” John asked firmly.

Sherlock nodded and lay back on the bed. He looked so beguiling that John had to leave before he gave into his baser nature.

A few hours later and John was back, his face was pale and drawn as he put down his parcels. Sherlock was making tea, but when he saw John’s face he instantly knew something was wrong.

“What is it?” Sherlock asked quietly.

“Rasputin is dead and the people are calling for the abdication of the Tsar. Sherlock, the police are arresting members of the Royal Family as we speak. Sherlock, I’ve got to get you out of the country.” John said as he began to pace.

“I’ve got to get to my parents,” Sherlock said frantically.

John grabbed his arm, “No, don’t you see, the news I told you is days, possibly weeks old. I’ll try and figure out a way to get word to them. In the meantime I think we should leave for Paris, France as soon as possible.”

John then sat down at the table, pulled out a Moroccan red leather case from his pocket and then Sherlock watched in fascination as John pulled out a syringe and began to inject himself with the serum inside. John noticing the worried look on Sherlock’s face said, “Don’t worry, Sherlock, it’s just a small dose for the pain.”

Sherlock nodded and frowned as he said, “Just be careful, John, I would hate to see you become an addict.”

John laughed, “Sherlock, as long as I have you around as my conscious, I will be okay. For you, Sherlock make me right.”

For a moment Sherlock and John stared at each other in confusion and then John leaned back and watched Sherlock as he poured a cup of tea for both of them. John had no intention of ever seducing Sherlock and yet as he sat there sipping his tea, John felt an intense wave of desire sweep over him, so much so that he had to hold his shaking hands under the table.

Sherlock stared at John, not letting him off the hook and then after a few moments of them both watching each other, Sherlock knew. Sherlock knew that John was going to make love to him. Slowly, John got up and walked over to where Sherlock was sitting and pulled him out of the chair. Sherlock put his hand into John’s outstretched hand and let John lead him into the bedroom. Once on the bed Sherlock lay there compliantly as John methodically took off his shirt, his pants and this time he didn’t hesitate as he removed Sherlock’s underwear, taking a jittery breath as he did so. Then he removed his own clothing and lay next to Sherlock, letting Sherlock explore his body.

At one point, Sherlock looked up at John and said, “John, I’m scared. I have no idea what to do.”

John looked at Sherlock’s panicked expression and said gently as he moved his hands just past Sherlock’s navel, “It’s okay, Sherlock,” John breathed as he kissed Sherlock’s neck. Determined to remain in control, John’s breath came out in ragged gasps as the pressure built up in him, demanding release.

Sherlock pulled John closer, naturally arching his hips so that they touched John’s need where it ached the most. “Sherlock,” John said as he grabbed Sherlock’s thin wrists tightly.

“John, you’re hurting me,” Sherlock gasped as John gripped his wrists even tighter.

“Sherlock, I have longed for you for so long. Whatever, happens, whatever world we end up in I don’t want us to never forget this night. Promise me,” John cried out as Sherlock touched him.

“I promise,” Sherlock cried out.

“That’s not good enough. Give me a code word we will always remember,” John hissed as Sherlock writhed underneath him.

Desperate for consummation Sherlock wildly looked around the room for inspiration, the tea in his stomach threatening to escape, “Tea, Chamomile tea,” Sherlock breathed as John’s face turned red from the effort not to force himself on Sherlock.

“My code word is Fire and Ice,” John said as he moved his face lower, his lips slowly trailing along Sherlock’s body kissing his stomach, and then brushing his hands gently away when Sherlock tried to assist him.

“Sherlock, I love you my precious detective, my violinist, my prince,” John whispered as he witnessed the discomfort and then the intense, pleasure as he gently manipulated Sherlock into an organismic flurry of activity.  Sweat poured down John’s face as his moist hands steadied Sherlock’s lower back as he slid out of John’s arms, into a flaccid relaxed pose.

Later John showed Sherlock how to give pleasure and Sherlock smiled at John in total adoration as he brought John’s body from a state of hard desire to a place of fluid relaxation.

Sherlock and John lay in each other’s arms and John kissed the top of Sherlock’s head and asked, “Sherlock, are you okay? I wasn’t too forceful was I?”

Sherlock chuckled laughed as he nuzzled John’s ear, “This is the best night of my life, John.” Then Sherlock’s mood changed as he jumped up and ran over to his jacket and pulled something out of his pocket. He then jumped back into bed and held out a small, gold and blue egg to John.

John inspected it for a moment or two and then his eyes widened as he said, “Sherlock, is this a Faberge Egg?”

Sherlock nodded enthusiastically and said, “Open it.”

John opened it and gasped, for inside was a hand painted picture of himself. “Sherlock, it’s wonderful. But how did the artist know what I looked like?”

Sherlock smiled shyly and said, “I painted it and had the Faberge craftsman put it inside the egg. It was my present for my 18th Birthday. It means the world to me, but now that I have you I think we should sell it for the money so we can escape to Paris.”

“It’s beautiful, just like you,” John said as he traced Sherlock’s jawline with his index finger.

 


	29. Cupid's Arrow Painted Blind

The next few days went by in a blur for Sherlock and John as they made plans to go to Paris. John felt as if he were floating on air and that nothing could mar his happiness. He was wrong oh so wrong. For one day after going to get more supplies John came home to find Sherlock standing stock still in the small entryway of the house while Moriarty held a gun to his head.  
“John, how lovely of you to join us,” Moriarty drawled.  
For a moment John was confused. “Rasputin, I thought you were dead?”  
Moriarty threw back his head laughed, “Oh please. Killing me? That’s so last year.”  
Sherlock frowned but didn’t say anything.  
John eased towards Moriarty but Moriarty’s reflexes were lightning fast. “Oh, no you don’t John. I am putting an end to this little romance of yours forever.” After seeing the panicked look on John’s face he laughed again. “Oh, John you are so transparent. I’m not going to kill Sherlock. I’m not even going to kill you. Oh, and I’m not going to send you through time in an effort to delete your memory of each other, for I know that no matter where I sent you two, eventually you would gravitate towards one another. No, I’m going to send you back to where there are no happy endings for you two.” Moriarty then giggled, obviously pleased with himself. “I’m sending you both back to 221b Baker Street. I’m sending you home. Everyone wants to go home, don’t they?” Then he raised his arms and John and Sherlock froze, rose through the air until they swirled around each other faster and faster, until all the was left were two DNA helixes that hovered towards each other until they morphed together in one DNA chain.  
Sherlock opened his eyes and looked around him, he should have been happy, but he wasn’t for he was lying alone in his bed at 221b Baker Street and he had no doubt that John was lying in his own bed alone as well.  
Epilogue  
Six Months Later-Christmas  
Mrs. Hudson fussed around the room, straightening out garland and Christmas lights. “Don’t you just love Christmas,” she said to no one in particular.  
Sherlock rolled his eyes and said nothing, Mary smiled and kissed the top of John’s head as he sat in his Baker Street chair, Lestrade toasted a glass in Molly’s direction trying to ignore the shape of her breasts in her tight black Christmas dress and Mycroft stood staring moodily into the flames of the fire that burned cheerily in the grate.   
“Well, come on it’s time for presents,” Mrs. Hudson said as she began to hand out small jars of homemade jam.  
John looked over in Sherlock’s direction desperately trying to get his attention, for he had avoided John since Moriarty had sent them home.  
Finally, Sherlock glared over at John and said, “What, what is it?”  
The room fell silent as John said in a soft voice, “Merry Christmas, Sherlock and walked over and handed him a small package.”  
Sherlock frowned as he savagely tore the delicate paper around the package and threw it to the ground. “I thought I said no presents.” Sherlock snapped and then paused as he lifted a small piece of amber with a small insect encased inside.  
John smiled, “It’s amber.”  
Sherlock looked over at John in irritation, “Of course it is.”  
John ignored Sherlock’s tone of voice as his eyes took on a faraway look. “It’s from the Baltic Sea area and it is said that millions of years ago an insect was crawling through the warm amber when the temperature of the earth plummeted leaving the creature frozen. You know fire and ice.”  
Sherlock laid the amber down on the table and said acerbically, “Fine, nice.”  
Mary laughed and then stopped when she saw the look on John’s face. “John, are you okay? You look as if you’re going to be ill.”  
John’s face was pale and his small lips were tightly pursed as he said, “I’m fine.”  
Sherlock sighed left the room and came back a few moments later with a cup of tea that he held out towards John.  
“No, thank you,” John said as he scrunched further down in the chair.  
John, take it, it’s Chamomile tea,” Sherlock said firmly.  
John looked up at Sherlock and took a sharp intake of breath, “Chamomile tea,” John whispered as Sherlock’s fingers lightly touched his.  
He then bent down as if to tie his shoes and whispered back to John, “Fire and Ice.”  
Mary had left John’s side to look at the Christmas tree with Mrs. Hudson, Molly giggled at Lestrade’s jokes, John stared into Sherlock’s tear filled eyes, and the only one who saw everything was Mycroft. “And therefore, is cupid’s arrow painted blind.” He softly whispered into the flames.  
Mrs. Hudson went to bed.  
Molly and Lestrade shared a cab home.  
Mycroft had a limo pick him up.  
Sherlock went to his mind palace.  
John and Mary went home it was only when Mary was fast asleep that John felt something in his coat pocket, it wasn’t wrapped, it just lay there in his hand in all its glorious splendor, a blue Faberge egg. Sherlock and scrawled a note that he had carelessly taped on the outside of the object. “Saw this, thought you would like it.” SH


End file.
